


A Tale of Two Nations

by SmiggleWiggy



Category: Sons of Liberty (TV)
Genre: American Revolution, F/M, Historical Inaccuracies, fair warning, i'm a little nervous tbh, it's my first okay?, let's do it, michael raymond-james is worth it, oh well
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-20
Updated: 2016-07-30
Packaged: 2018-05-02 11:45:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 28
Words: 89,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5247095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmiggleWiggy/pseuds/SmiggleWiggy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gender: F Meaning of Charlotte: "free man" Origin of Charlotte: French, feminine diminutive of Charles<br/>--<br/>Charlotte Mills is just like any other Boston citizen - she wants the Redcoats out of her city, out of her colony, out of her country all together.<br/>Of course, before that can happen, the colonists must form a country, but Charlotte has her hopes. As does Paul Revere and many of the men Charlotte will meet during her time as a rebel. And, of course, she'll happen to win one's heart along the way.<br/>Or before. Whichever comes first.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Free Ridin'

**Author's Note:**

> Okay. Cool. I uh... I'm not terrified.  
> Oh hell, what am I saying? Of course I'm terrified.  
> Hi, my name is Wiggs, and I'm terrified.  
> Please don't hurt me, or my writing.

Paul Revere pulled his horse to a halt in the middle of the forest road he was riding on with a grin. He glanced over his shoulder and then further down the road before letting out a breath and leaning forward to pat his horse on the neck.

Riding was his favorite thing. Well, one of his favorite things. He had many, but riding was very high up on the list. There wasn’t an afternoon where he didn’t hit the saddle and go for a quick-paced ride up the road outside of Boston and back again.

And, if he had someone to join him, that made the ride even better, because then they could race.

His competitor rode up beside him just then, his chest rising and falling in quick pants. Paul’s grin grew. “How’re you feeling, Sam?”

Samuel Adams gave him a glare as he reached into a saddlebag and pulled out a flask. “How do you think?” he grumbled before he took a swig of whatever foul liquid was inside it.

“Ah, c’mon!” Paul reached across the gap between their horses and gave Sam a pat on the back. “The afternoon air is good for you! You can’t spend all your time in that damn tavern.”

“I can, and I would, if you’d just let me,” Sam said in response. “I don’t need this.”

“Yes you do,” Paul informed him. “It’s better than the nasty stuff that’s in the Green Dragon. You’ll get sick if you spend much more time in there.”

“Have you been talking to Warren?” Sam asked him with a groan.

“A bit,” Paul replied with another grin. “He came down to the shop with a toothache. Turned out that he needed a cap.”

Sam was about to respond when they heard a cry of panic coming from the road behind them. They both looked over their shoulders, and Paul’s eyes went wide when he saw a fast moving horse coming straight towards them.

“Move!” he said to Sam, directing his horse towards the edge of the road. Sam went to the other side, and the running horse galloped past them, a frantic young woman holding on for dear life on its back.

“Shit,” Paul muttered, flicking the reins of his own horse. He went off down the road after the woman, pushing his horse to limits he hadn’t gone too since the French and Indian War. “C’mon,” he urged, leaning forward off of the saddle.

The woman was screeching. “Help! Someone, please!”

Paul flicked the reins one final time, and his mare sped up to a speed that would have sent a mediocre rider flying into the trees. They rode up alongside the woman and her own horse, and Paul held out one hand. “Give me your hand!” he said to the woman.

She reached over and grabbed his, and Paul pulled her across the gap in the horses, bringing her onto the saddle in front of him. Once she was safely off of her own horse, he pulled back on the reins. “Whoa, whoa…”

His horse slowed to a halt, and Paul allowed the woman to slide down to the ground before climbing down behind her. He went around to the side she’d landed on, and crouched down in front of her. “You alright?” he asked.

She blinked a few times to get past her shock, and met his gaze. “Yes,” she said softly, brushing a strand of blond hair out of her green eyes. “Thank you. You saved my life.”

Paul grinned. “It was the gentlemanly thing to do,” he responded. He then held out his hand. “Paul Revere.”

The woman pulled off her riding glove before shaking his hand. “Charlotte Mills.”

“Paul!” He helped her to her feet as Samuel Adams rode up on horseback. He slid from the saddle and joined them. “How’s our damsel in distress?” he queried, looking her up and down.

“I’m well, thank you,” she responded. “Mr. Adams.”

“Ah, you know one another,” Paul said with an eye roll.

“Unfortunately,” Charlotte responded.

“Ah, c’mon,” Sam said with a lopsided grin. “I wasn’t that bad.”

“No, but you didn’t ever talk to me after that one time,” Charlotte said sourly. “That, in my book, is enough to give me cause to dislike you.” She glanced down the road in the direction her horse had gone. “I don’t suppose I’ll see her again, hmm?”

Paul followed her eyes and then shook his head. “No, I don’t think so,” he said.

“Dammit,” she mumbled.

“Something important in a saddlebag?” Paul asked her.

“Yes, actually,” Charlotte answered, “but nothing I wasn't going to get rid of, anyhow.” She looked at them both and then shook Paul’s hand again. “Mr. Revere, thank you for saving me. Perhaps I’ll see you again.” She then looked at Sam, a distasteful glint in her eyes. “Mr. Adams, I hope you crawl back into whatever tavern you came out of.”

“Ah, see?” Sam questioned, turning to Paul as she began to walk down the road towards Boston. “She knows I belong in the taverns.”

“Miss Mills,” Paul called, ignoring his friend. She stopped and glanced over her shoulder at him. “I would be willing to give you a ride back.”

Charlotte smiled. “I appreciate your offer, but I don’t believe I will be getting on another horse for quite a while.” She faced forward again and began walking once more. Paul watched until she disappeared around a bend, and then he looked at Sam.

“Did you really -”

“Yep,” Sam responded. He smirked and flicked his eyebrows. “And it was nice.”

“Oh, please,” Paul groaned. “Spare me the details.” He climbed back up into the saddle and turned his horse around. Sam looked up at him.

“Oh,” he said after a moment. “Someone likes her, huh?”

“No,” Paul responded immediately. “I mean, she was pretty -”

“Beautiful.”

“Gorgeous,” Paul agreed with a heavy sigh. His shoulders rose and fell, and then he caught himself. “She was very attractive, but I don’t do that.”

“No,” Sam replied, swinging himself up onto his own horse. “Not the good and honorable Boston silversmith turned dentist.”

This time, it was Paul who glared at Sam. “I’m not you, Sam.”

“I never said you were,” Sam said as they began their return ride to Boston. “You don’t have to do what I did; you could pursue her.”

“Please,” Paul mumbled. “I met her for five minutes.”

“You saved her life,” Sam corrected. “If I were her, I’d be swooning.”

At that, Paul chuckled. “Yeah, well, maybe we’ll find her lying on the side of the road from a faint.”

They did find her on the side of the road, but she was walking. “You sure you don’t want a ride?” Paul called down to her as he slowed his horse’s speed to match her own.

“I’m fine, thanks,” Charlotte answered.

“I’ll send Sam on ahead,” Paul offered. Charlotte stopped walking and glanced up at him. Paul pulled his horse to a halt and jerked his head to motion for Sam to keep going.

“Women,” he muttered under his breath as he rode past.

Paul watched him ride away before looking back down at Charlotte. “He’s gone.”

“That he is,” Charlotte agreed. She let out a breath and glanced at the horse. “She won’t go crazy like mine did, will she?”

“Nah,” Paul answered. “She’s very obedient.”

“Glad to hear it,” Charlotte said. She swallowed and then picked up her skirts. She came over to the side of the horse. Paul offered her his hand, and she took it. He pulled her up into the saddle behind him, and Charlotte wrapped her arms around his waist.

“You don’t need to be scared,” Paul informed her. “I’ve saved you once; that basically means you need me to keep you safe.”

“Oh, does it?” Charlotte queried.

“Yes, ma’am,” Paul answered. “And I intend to make sure you _are_ safe.” He flicked the reins, and his mare started forward again. Charlotte’s grip around his waist tightened, and Paul smiled to himself. “So, what were you doing riding out here alone?”

“I like being on my own,” Charlotte answered. “Solitude lets me think.”

“Were you thinking about anything specific this time around?” Paul asked.

“Other than about the fact that I was extremely close to death?”

Paul chuckled. “Other than that.”

Charlotte was silent for a moment. “Yes,” she responded at last. “I guess you could say I was.”

“Any chance you’d be willing to share?” Paul questioned. “I mean, it’s a long ride back to Boston.”

It was Charlotte’s turn to chuckle. “I just… I was going to return something to someone, and I was wondering why I was doing so.” She paused. “Maybe, if it was meant to be, it will find it’s way back on it’s own.”

“What was it?” Paul asked.

“Mmm, not something I want to tell you about just yet,” Charlotte answered.

“All right,” Paul said, pleased with the "just yet" she had put at the end of the sentence. “I won’t pry.”

“You’d be the first,” Charlotte informed him.

“A lot of people need to learn to keep their noses in their own businesses,” Paul said, thinking of a group of specific people.

“Like the Redcoats?”

“How’d you know?”

“I feel the exact same way,” Charlotte replied, “and I’m hoping someone will start to do something about it soon, or I may scream right in the middle of Town Hall Square.”

“You aren’t be the only one who wants to, believe me,” Paul said. “There’s a whole group of us who want the Redcoats out of the colonies.”

“Really?” Charlotte sounded interested. “What is this group planning on doing about said Redcoats?”

“Nothing yet,” Paul replied, “but I have a feeling that won’t be the answer for long.” They rode along in silence for a moment, until Paul said, “Miss Mills -”

“Please, call me Charlotte.”

He grinned to himself. “Charlotte, how exactly did you and Samuel Adams meet?”

“God, that’s a tale,” she sighed. “I was working in a tavern, just to earn a few extra shillings for my family. Sam came in one night, and used that stupid honey-sweetened tongue of his to talk me into having a few drinks with him. A few turned into a lot, and we ended up in bed together.”

“One of those mistakes you wish you could take back.”

“Oh, no,” Charlotte answered. “I don’t want to take it back. It was a nice evening. I just wish it hadn’t been the only one.” She paused. “That was very forward of me, wasn’t it? I apologize.”

“You like him?” Paul asked.

“No, not anymore,” Charlotte answered. “I have to admit, I kept going back to the tavern to see if he’d return for a month after our night together, but he never came back. Must’ve moved onto to a different watering hole, to a different girl.”

“Not that I know of,” Paul replied. “But, I don’t know Sam as well as some others do, so.”

“Mr. Revere -”

“Paul.”

“... Paul. I must admit you’ve interested me into learning more about your friends. It seems as though we don’t run in the same circle.”

“No, we probably wouldn’t have crossed paths if I hadn’t saved you,” Paul agreed. “I’m a silversmith, with a few other businesses on the side.”

“Yes, I’ve seen your shop in town,” Charlotte agreed. “I’ve always wondered what it looked like inside, to be honest. I’ve never worked up the guts to go in, however.”

“Well, you didn’t have a reason to,” Paul said with a shrug.

“I do now, though, don’t I?” Charlotte queried.

That gave Paul a pause, but not an unpleasant one. “I suppose you do, if you’d like to view me as a reason,” he said at last.

“I would,” Charlotte said. “Very much so.”

“Then I guess I will be seeing you in my shop in the following days,” Paul commented.

“I do believe you will,” Charlotte answered.


	2. Pie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Charlotte makes a pie for the silversmith with her mother's help. That part isn't written in the chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are nice. Really. Thank you for that.  
> HEY. In the spirit of Thanksgiving, I will say I am GRATEFUL to the nice people that have commented and left kudos. Nothing quite like getting an email at 3 in the morning that says "Some has left a comment on (Enter Story Title Here)."  
> So, yes. I'm grateful for you who did that. Thank you.  
> Here, why don't we do this - you tell me what you're grateful for in the comments! Perfect. I'm such a genius.

Paul did see Charlotte, as she showed up at his workshop the very next day. She entered the shop through the front, and, when she saw it was empty, poked her head into the back room.

It was an interesting place, to say the least. Six or so big wooden work tables scattered the large space, and a giant forge sat in the center, glowing brightly with a fire. An area off to the side of the forge was reserved for several anvils of varying sizes, as well as a grindstone.

Paul was standing at an anvil, beating away at some red hot thing with a hammer. Charlotte couldn't help but notice that the back of his shirt was soaked through with sweat, and she could see his muscles quite easily. She glanced around, and spotted his vest lying on the back of a chair beside one of the worktables. Why he thought it was safe to work in only his shirt, she didn't understand, but she wasn't complaining. 

She watched him work silently for a few moments, admiring him, until Paul must’ve felt her watching, and he looked up.

“Sorry,” she apologized. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“It’s fine,” he answered, setting his hammer down. He made a move to go get his vest, and she shook her head to show that it didn't bother her that he wasn't wearing it. Paul stopped moving and gave her a small grin. “Hi.”

“Hello,” she said. She gazed at him for a moment, almost forgetting that she was there with a reason. “Oh, right, I uh… I have a request.”

“Do you?” Paul questioned, his interest perking. She had come up with a reason to visit him, it seemed, and he was curious to know what it was. 

“Yes,” Charlotte replied. She pulled a piece of parchment from the pocket on the skirt she was wearing and handed it to him. Paul unfolded it and held it up. “I want you to make me one of those,” she said.

“A teapot?”

“A teapot,” Charlotte agreed. “It’s for my mother.”

“I see,” Paul responded. He gazed at the drawing a moment longer before he nodded and folded the parchment over. “I can make you one.”

Charlotte grinned. “I will pay you, of course.”

“We’ll discuss that when I’ve made the teapot to your liking,” Paul said, and before Charlotte could argue, he returned to where he’d put his hammer and picked it up again. “Was there anything else?” he asked her.

“No,” Charlotte answered. “That was it.” She watched as he started to work again, and Paul glanced at her, an eyebrow raising. She blinked. “Sorry. I’ll go.”

She began to turn around to leave, and Paul smiled to himself and shook his head. She was a character.

As Charlotte left the shop, Sam Adams came up, holding a box of something. “Hello Char,” he greeted with a grin.

“Please, spare me your gentleman pleasantries,” Charlotte said. “Really.”

“What were you doing in the smithy?” Sam asked her. “Did Paul show you his hammer?”

“God, you’re disgusting,” Charlotte groaned. “What I saw in you is beyond me.”

“Please, you have to admit I can be charming,” Sam said.

“Sure, when you’ve been drinking,” Charlotte responded. She brushed past him to the street and walked away, aware of Sam watching her go. She was smiling to herself, however. He was crude, to be sure, but he _was_ handsome.

Sam pushed his way into Paul’s shop and joined him in the back room, setting the box down on one of the tables. “I saw Charlotte,” he commented airily. “What was she doing here?”

“She asked me to make her something,” Paul answered, coming over. “What do you have here?”

Sam merely grinned. “Mr. Revere, allow me to show you our first attempt at resistance,” he said, and then opened the box.

Inside were bottles of wine. Paul reached in and pulled one out, studying the label. He then looked at Sam. “Are you smuggling?”

Sam shrugged. “It’s a profit to be made, one that can give help to the people who need it,” he explained. “The Redcoats aren’t buying from anyone but Loyalists, and they’re taking rebels for no reason.”

“There’s a reason,” Paul said, putting the wine back, “just not one that we agree with.”

“That should be reason enough!” Sam said to him. “Paul, I have a plan.”

Paul looked at his friend, and saw the serious expression on his face. He sighed and crossed his arms. “What do you have in mind?”

Out on the streets, Charlotte was making her return journey to her home. As an unmarried young woman, it wasn’t right of her to live alone, so she lived with her parents. They owned a small fabric shop a square over from the one where Paul’s shop was located, so it didn’t take her long to get there.

As she walked, however, she passed by Doctor Joseph Warren, who was standing outside his own home.

“Hello, Doctor Warren,” she greeted as she approached.

He gave her a smile. “Hello, Miss Mills. How’s your father?”

Charlotte’s father had a small lung problem. He couldn’t breath very well while he was sleeping, so her mother was often waking up in the night to make sure he was still alive. It was from being around all the fabric dyes in the shop his whole life.

Charlotte merely shrugged. “As well as he can be,” she said. “How are you, though?”

“Fine,” Dr. Warren answered. “I’m a bit worried about Elizabeth; she’s ailing.”

“I’m sure she’ll be alright,” Charlotte said. “She’s strong.”

“Yes, it doesn’t seem to be anything worse than a cold,” Warren agreed.

“Dr. Warren, are you friends with the silversmith? Paul Revere?” Charlotte asked him.

“Oh, yes,” Dr. Warren answered. “Paul and I are close. Why?”

“How much do you happen to know about the rebel activity in Boston?” she queried under her breath.

Dr. Warren lifted an eyebrow. “Not much,” he admitted after a moment, “but… how do you know anything?”

“Mr. Revere saved me from being thrown off my horse yesterday afternoon,” Charlotte answered. “We had a small discussion over the Redcoats, and how they’re beginning to bother a lot of Boston’s citizens. He briefly mentioned a group who were considering doing something about them, and I wanted to know if there was any possibility of me helping.”

“And you didn’t ask Paul this?” Dr. Warren queried.

Charlotte smiled and shook her head. “I’m afraid he was busy, and I didn’t want to disturb him more than necessary.”

“Ah,” Dr. Warren said. “Well, I can’t tell you much, but I imagine if you wanted to know more, Samuel Adams could tell you.”

Charlotte’s nose wrinkled at the thought. “Let me guess; he’s in charge of all this, isn’t he?” Warren nodded, and she shook her head again. “Of course.”

"He knows how to rally them," Warren said.

"He does," Charlotte replied. "Just another of his many talents." She rolled her eyes and then dipped her head. "Thank you for your time, Dr. Warren."

She turned and began to walk away. Warren called her name and she stopped, glancing over her shoulder. "If you decide to pursue this, please be careful," Dr. Warren said. "I'd hate for something to happen to you after I told you about it."

Charlotte smiled. "I appreciate your concern, but I know how to take care of myself." She faced forward again and continued walking.

She reached her home shortly and entered through the shop. Her mother was seated behind the counter, and she looked up when Charlotte came in.

"Where have you been?" she queried, doing her best to sound casual.

"For a walk," Charlotte replied, taking off her shawl and hanging it on the rack near the door.

"Not to see Daniel, I hope?" Mrs. Mills asked, and Charlotte shook her head.

"I told you that Daniel and I are no longer together," she said.

"He proposed told you," Mrs. Mills replied. "That doesn't sound like no longer together to me."

"It's like I said," Charlotte said. "I returned the ring he gave me with a sweet note declining the offer."

"You could have gotten out of Boston for good, darling," Mrs. Mills exclaimed. "Why wouldn't you take it?"

Charlotte looked at her mother straight on. "I didn't love him," she said shortly. "If I get married, it will be to someone I love."

"God, you don't mean that tax collector, do you?" her mother asked.

"What? No! My God, mother, I mentioned him once!"

"Yes, but you kept going back to that tavern every night for the next month," Mrs. Mills reminded her.

Charlotte shook her head sharply. "I would not get married to Samuel Adams. I promise you that much."

"Thank God for small miracles," Mrs. Mills said. "Do you have anyone in mind?"

"Mother, I just ended things with Daniel," Charlotte sighed. "Of course I don't have anyone in mind." As she spoke, however, Paul Revere jumped to the forefront of her mind, and she smiled to herself.

“Mother,” she began. “Do we have time to bake a pie?”

“A pie?” Mrs. Mills glanced up from her book. “What do you want to make a pie for?”

“For the silversmith, Mr. Revere,” Charlotte explained. “I’ve asked him to make me something, and he wouldn’t accept payment upfront.”

Mrs. Mills gazed at her daughter. “That wasn’t him being kind, Charlotte,” she said after a moment. “Why are you spending our money on trinkets?”

“Not our money - my money,” Charlotte corrected. “And it’s meant to be a surprise.”

Mrs. Mills huffed and closed her book. “You want to bake Mr. Revere the silversmith a pie? Be my guest. I have more important things to do.”

“Like what?”

“Like run the shop!” Charlotte glanced around the shop. It was completely empty. She turned back to her mother with a raised eyebrow, and Mrs. Mills returned the look. “You know how to bake a pie.”

“I do, but you make them so much better.”

Mrs. Mills snorted. “You’re right about that, at least.” She gazed up at Charlotte for a moment longer, and Charlotte smiled widely. Her mother rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Fine. I’ll help you make your silversmith a pie, but whatever he’s making for you better be pretty great.”

“Thank you,” Charlotte said. Her mother went to the door of the shop and locked it before they went upstairs into their home. Charlotte could hear her father coughing from down the hall, and she glanced at her mother.

Mrs. Mills didn’t say anything more than “He was up all night.”

“It’s getting worse, then?”

Mrs. Mills nodded. “Your father seems to believe it’s the air. I think it’s just his lungs. They are probably permanently stained red.”

“They’re black, from the sounds he’s making,” Charlotte murmured, flinching slightly as her father hacked up something.

“Never mind,” Mrs. Mills said. “What sort of pie do you think your silversmith will enjoy?”

“Mother -”

“I’m not talking about this with you, Charlotte.”

“If we’re not gaining money here, maybe it’s best for father if you two leave.”

“Leave you here?” Charlotte lifted her shoulders, and Mrs. Mills shook her head. “I won’t allow that. Besides, we don’t have the money for a move.”

“But if it’s what you need…”

“Charlotte, no,” Mrs. Mills repeated sternly. “That’s the end of it.” She nodded towards the pantry. “Go figure out what kind of pie you want to make, and bring me the ingredients.”

Charlotte bowed her head and walked towards the pantry with a sigh. Her parents did need to leave Boston. Maybe, if it wasn’t to get away from the air, it was simply to get away. The Redcoats weren’t making things better for anyone, and if she could get her parents out of the city before she decided to join whatever rebellion Samuel Adams had begun, then she wouldn’t need to worry about the aftereffects it would have on them.

Still, her mother was right. Even if Charlotte decided to throw in all the money she had saved up, she doubted there was enough to get her parents out of Boston, even to move to the next colony over, let alone find a ship back to England. Not that she would send her parents there with a good conscious, anyhow.

No, if she wanted to get her parents out of Boston, she’d have to figure out a way to earn the money to do it.

\--

The next day, she exited her home, the safely covered pie in hand. It was a dreary morning, rain promised by the dark heaviness of the clouds above. Charlotte didn’t mind rain, but she hoped it wouldn’t start as she walked to the smithy.

She passed Sam Adams as she walked, and he tilted his head at her, smiling. She let out a breath and stopped walking. “Mr. Adams.”

He paused as well and turned around to face her. “Char, are you actually speaking to me?” he asked. “I’m both shocked, and very pleased.”

“Spare me, Mr. Adams. I simply wanted to inquire about your plan.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “My plan?”

“To take care of the Redcoats,” Charlotte explained.

“Ah, I see,” Sam responded. “And you want to help?”

“Yes,” she told him. “Whatever I can do.”

“Well, if I think of something, I’ll come talk to you,” Sam said. He glanced at the dish she was holding. “That pie for me?”

Charlotte chuckled and turned back around, continuing onto her walk. “You wish,” she called over her shoulder.

Sam watched her go with a grin, and he shook his head once before continuing onto the tavern. Paul had agreed to a meeting with Hancock, and so it was time to talk to Hancock about said meeting. Just to bother him, Sam had asked to meet at the Green Dragon.

Charlotte reached the smithy and used one hand to test the door. It was unlocked. She opened it and entered the building, closing the door behind her. She could hear Paul working in the back room, and she went to peek in at him.

He was standing by the forge, heating up the end of a blade. When she cleared her throat to attract his attention, her glanced over his shoulder at her.

“Charlotte,” he greeted, putting down the weapon. He reached for a rag and wiped at his forehead. “Afraid you’ve caught me at a… heated time.”

She laughed. “I don’t want to be a distraction,” she began, “but I brought you a pie.”

“A pie?” Paul came over to her, and Charlotte held out the dish towards him.

“To thank you for saving me,” she explained.

“Anyone would have,” Paul said, leading the way out of the back room. Charlotte set the pie down on a table and shrugged before crossing her arms.

“I happen to be a very grateful person,” she told him. “You should expect quite a lot of signs that I am indebted to you.”

Paul raised an eyebrow and set down the rag he was using before bracing his hands against the other side of the table. “You’ll forgive me if I don’t accept presents,” he said. “I’m not one to take things I don’t deserve.”

“But you do deserve them,” Charlotte argued. “You saved my life, Mr. Revere, and that makes me want to give things to you. So…” She pushed the pie dish across the table towards him. “That’s the first.”

“Fine,” Paul said, drawing it towards him. “Thank you for the pie.”

“It’s pumpkin,” Charlotte told him. “Easiest to make on short notice.”

“So you take the easy way out when it comes to me?” Paul queried.

“You know, you really need to make up your mind on whether or not you want to be spoiled,” Charlotte commented.

Paul smiled as he lifted the lid and took a whiff. “Smells good,” he said, putting the lid back on. “I’ll take this upstairs, but I believe I have to ask you to go.”

“Really?” Charlotte questioned.

Paul headed for the stairs. “Unfortunately. My shop is going to be taken over in a matter of time, and you don’t want to be around the unruly sorts that will be here.”

Charlotte watched him go up the stairs and leaned back against the table thoughtfully. When he came back down, she glanced at him. “You wouldn’t mind walking me home, would you?”

“Course not,” Paul replied. “I said I was going to keep you safe, didn’t I?”

“You didn’t walk me home yesterday,” Charlotte reminded him.

"Sam made that impossible, didn’t he?” Paul questioned, grabbing for his coat. He pulled it on as Charlotte smirked and nodded in acceptance. “No Sam today means I can walk you home. Let’s go.”

They walked out of the shop together, and Charlotte noticed Paul didn’t lock the door behind him. She raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything, and slid her arm through the crook of his elbow when he offered it to her.

“Where do you live?” he asked.

“A few blocks over,” she answered, “just beyond Doctor Warren’s. Strange how we lived so close but didn’t ever run into one another.”

“That’s how it works in Boston,” Paul said simply.

Charlotte noticed they weren’t taking the shortest route to her home, but she didn’t say anything about it. Instead, she nodded towards the Green Dragon, where Sam was holding the door open for a few men. They all shuffled outside, holding boxes and papers, and headed in the way Charlotte and Paul had come.

“Those the ones who are taking over your shop?” she questioned.

“Yep,” Paul replied, “and paying me some pretty coin to do so.”

“What are they doing in there?” Charlotte queried. Paul glanced sideways at her, and she smiled. “I mean, you don’t have to tell me, of course.”

“No, but I will,” Paul said. “They’re trying to work out some plan to get around the taxes the Crown put down.”

“Really?” Charlotte tilted her head thoughtfully. “If they come up with something good, I’m sure a lot of Boston citizens will be grateful.”

“You’re very interested in this,” Paul commented.

“I want to get rid of the Redcoats just as much as everyone else. If Sam and his friends are going to do something to show that they’re awful and hold no authority, then I want to be apart of it,” Charlotte responded. “I’ve talked to Sam about it already.”

“Did you?”

“Mmhm,” Charlotte said. “He tried to take your pie.”

“Bastard,” Paul said good-naturedly.

Charlotte chuckled. “I wouldn’t say that,” she sighed. “More of a ruffian.”

“No, I think bastard is an appropriate word,” Paul replied. “He tried to take my pie.”

"He didn't really try to take it -"

"I know, Charlie," Paul interrupted. "I was kidding."

"Ah." Charlotte wouldn't admit it, but she was thrilled by the use of the nickname. "Charlie, huh?"

"Well, Charlotte's a bit of a mouthful," Paul responded.

"It's two syllables!"

"Sure, but you have that fancy "shh" sound at the beginning... Charlie is a lot easier to say."

"It's pretty sure that Charlotte is easier to say than Charlie, but all right," Charlotte said with a laugh. "They don't even sound the same."

"Do you want me to use the nickname?" Paul questioned.

"Well, you can if you want to," Charlotte answered. "I'm not going to stop you."

"There we are, then," Paul finished. "It's decided."

"I suppose so," Charlotte agreed. She nodded to her home. "There it is."

"It's nice," Paul commented. "You own a store?"

"No, not me," Charlotte replied. "It's my parents'. I just help." She pushed open the door. Her mother was there, as usual, reading a book. She glanced up as the door opened, and her eyes widened when she saw Paul.

"Charlotte, why didn't you tell me you were bringing a friend?" Mrs. Mills demanded, standing up and straightening her dress.

"Relax, mother," Charlotte sighed. "He was just walking me home."

Still, Paul grinned at Charlotte's mother and held out his hand. "My name is Paul Revere, ma'am," he said.

Charlotte raised her eyes to the ceiling when her mother smiled and shook Paul's hand. "Harriet Mills. It is very nice to meet you, Mr. Revere."

"I'm surprised your daughter didn't tell you about me," he said, sending Charlotte a glance. "A little wounded, actually."

"Well, she mentioned you briefly yesterday," Mrs. Mills admitted.

"But not because of the thing I'm thinking, I'm going to guess," Paul concluded. "Charlie, I'm hurt."

"You're going to be if you don't stop talking," Charlotte promised him.

"Charlotte, rude!" Mrs. Mills exclaimed.

"It's all right, ma'am," Paul said. "I don't mind a little fire. Comes with being a silversmith." He turned to Charlotte fully. "I suppose you don't need me anymore."

"I stopped needing you three minutes ago," Charlotte agreed. "Thank you for walking me home, Mr. Revere."

"Ah, Charlie, what did I say about using my first name?"

"Not in front of my mother," Charlotte said through her teeth. "Good day, Mr. Revere." She pulled open the door, and Paul tilted his head before looking at Mrs. Mills.

"Lovely to meet you, ma'am."

"And you as well," Mrs. Mills replied. "Maybe we'll see you again?"

"I wouldn't be surprised if you did," Paul responded. "Charlotte."

"Have a nice day," Charlotte said. Paul ducked out of the shop, and Charlotte shut the door, shaking her head as she leaned her back against it.

Mrs. Mills was smiling. "I like him."

"Of course you do," Charlotte mumbled. "You both get under my skin."

Paul was returning to his shop outside, and just before he opened the door, he took a drink from his flask, grinning as he thought about Charlotte. She was simply perfect. Everything about her made Paul giddy with adoration, and he had no reason why. Perhaps it was the fire she had, which met his so easily, or maybe he was just drawn to her like a moth to a flame because that was simply her way. Sam had been drawn to her as well, and Paul didn't blame him. 

Sam was right; Paul did like her. Quite a lot, actually, and he wanted her to like him, too.

If he wasn’t wrong, she already did.


	3. Sorta Smuggling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Charlotte becomes part of the smuggling ring, and Sam finds out that she's in love (?) with Paul.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sweetfayetanner is sweet indeed. Just sayin'.

“Char!”

“Oh, good God.” Charlotte sighed as she stopped walking and turned around to face Sam. “What do you want, Samuel?”

“To give you that chance to help you asked for,” Sam replied. He stopped in front of her and held up a silver coin. She took it from him and gazed at it in confusion.

“What is this?”

“A sign that you’re one of us,” he explained. “We’re starting an underground system for getting past the taxes, and we need your help.”

“What needs to happen?” Charlotte asked.

“Paul tells me your parents own a fabric shop. Do you have a back room?” Sam queried, and Charlotte drew her eyebrows together.

“Not exactly, but we do have a storage room that no one uses. Why?”

“Walk and talk with me,” Sam said, holding out his arm. Charlotte looked at him with a raised eyebrow, but she all the same slid her hand into the crook of his elbow. “So, this is what we’re doing,” he began as they started to stroll. “A group of my friends are in charge of getting the supplies here on their ships. From there, we take the supplies to Paul’s shop, and then distribute it among the shops in the ring. If a person comes to the shop with one of the coins I gave you, they get a discount, and something extra.”

“The supplies,” Charlotte concluded.

“Exactly.”

“And what about the shop owners who’re doing your dirty work?” Charlotte questioned.

“They’ll get a slice of the profits, of course,” Sam replied. “It all goes back to the people.”

“You’re not going to keep any of it for yourself?” Charlotte asked, glancing at him.

“I never do,” Sam responded. “Sort of a morality thing.”

“So, if I agree, what happens if we get caught?”

“It won’t happen.”

“But if it _does_?”

“If it _does_ , then I promise to make sure nothing happens to you or your parents, or your parents’ store,” Sam said. 

“Can you be sure?”

“Of course not,” Sam answered. “None of us can be sure of anything at this point, but you can trust me.”

“I can?” Charlotte asked.

Before Sam could respond, someone called their names from across the street, and both Charlotte and Sam turned to see Paul Revere. Charlotte pulled her hand away from Sam’s arm and waved to him.

Paul crossed the street to reach them, and he looked at Sam. “Did the boys have a successful second trip?” he asked him.

“Yes, they did,” Sam answered.

“Good.” Paul looked at Charlotte. “How are you today, Charlie?”

“Just fine, thank you.”

“I was going to ask you to come with me on a walk, but I see Sam got to you first,” Paul said.

“Sam was just telling me about the plan,” Charlotte explained. “I think our conversation is over though, isn’t it, Mr. Adams?”

“Yes, it is. I’ll have someone deliver some supplies to you,” Sam replied. He shot Paul a wink. “Have a nice walk.”

He sauntered away, and Charlotte looked up at Paul. He was watching his friend walk off. “Something the matter?” she queried.

“No,” Paul replied. He grinned and met her gaze. “Just a bit jealous.”

"Jealous?" Charlotte was elated. "Why do you need to feel jealous?"

"Sam's a handsome man," Paul answered.

"And?” Paul shrugged. "Exactly. Sam didn't save my life, and I happen to think you are more handsome."

"You flatter me," Paul said calmly, though inside he was jumping up and down like a child.

"I'm only telling the truth," Charlotte said simply. She was amazed that she'd been so upfront about her feelings for him. It was almost like she didn't care what happened because of it. She was just comfortable with telling him how she felt; she supposed it was because she didn't really think that the feelings she got when she saw him were related to anything other than the fact that he had saved her life. Sure, he was handsome, but she didn't know him. 

Charlotte then remembered what she was supposed to be doing. "I completely forgot I was supposed to ask you something. That's what I was coming to do before Sam stopped me." She paused and looked at him. "My mother wants to have you over for supper."

"Does she?" Paul asked, lifting an eyebrow.

"Yes," Charlotte replied. "I made the mistake of telling her you saved me, and she wants to thank you herself. By... feeding you, I guess."

"You don't sound happy about this," Paul commented.

"Well, I would be if it hadn't been my mother's idea," Charlotte said. _If it was just the two of us._

"I think it'll be nice."

"Of course," Charlotte mumbled. "You and my mother seem to get along swimmingly."

"Maybe there's a reason for that," Paul said. _Because we both care about you._

"Maybe," Charlotte responded. "How does Thursday work for you?"

"Thursday. That's..."

"Two days from now."

"Right. I think that's a good day," Paul said with a nod.

"Great," Charlotte said. She smiled at him. "I guess I'll see you then."

She began to walk away. “Charlie.” She stopped and glanced over her shoulder at him. “You want me to walk you home?”

She smiled. “Yes, thank you.”

A few hours later, a big, burly man who introduced himself as Tim Kelly appeared at the door to the shop. Thankfully, Charlotte was alone downstairs, and she glanced towards the stairs behind her before she nodded and gestured for him to come in with her head.

Kelly was carrying a box, and Charlotte led him over to the storage room and unlocked the door. Kelly glanced around the small space before he shook his head. “Sam said you wanted to help,” he said over his shoulder as he set the box down, his accent revealing that he was Irish. 

“I do,” Charlotte answered sincerely. “I… I need to help my parents get out of Boston, out of Massachusetts. I’m hoping this will be a step towards that.”

Kelly glanced at her before he nodded. “If Sam can help you with that, he will,” he told her. “I’ll be back for collections on Friday. Until then, sell like normal, and if someone has one of these -” He held up his own silver coin. “- then you’ll know they’re on our side.”

“Right,” Charlotte said under her breath. “Thank you.”

“Have a good rest of your day, miss,” Kelly replied, shuffling from the shop. Charlotte watched him disappear down the street before she retreated back inside and closed the door.

“Think about the money, Charlotte,” she said to herself.

“What money?” Her mother had come down the stairs, and Charlotte’s eyes opened.

“No money in particular,” she responded. “Just money.”

“What did Mr. Revere say about dinner?” her mother queried, already forgetting about the mystery money.

“I offered, he accepted,” Charlotte said. “Thursday.”

“Thursday? Oh, you barely left me any time to prepare!” Mrs. Mills exclaimed.

“Mother, relax,” Charlotte said gently. “He’s a bachelor silversmith. I’m sure he’ll appreciate any warm meal he doesn’t have to pay for.”

“Don’t assume he doesn’t know how to cook for himself,” Mrs. Mills said shortly. “What do you think he likes?” Charlotte shrugs, and her mother let out a breath through her nose. “I knew you were going to be of no help.”

“I asked him, didn’t I?” Charlotte queried, holding out her hands.

“Yes, and I knew that was all you would do,” her mother answered shortly. She retreated back up the stairs, calling, “Watch the shop!” as she went.

Charlotte rolled her eyes and let out a brief laugh before she went behind the counter and leaned her elbows on it. “Watch the shop, she says,” she muttered. “Thank God, because if someone comes in that wants something special, I’d have to take care of it anyway.”

No one came in that afternoon, but the following morning, the shop was flooded. Charlotte made sure her mother was busy fetching the fabric so that she was manning the counter. A lot of the customers had coins, but several didn’t and she had to refuse them the wine that Kelly had brought the day before.

The cask didn’t have many bottles, but around noon there was a lull in shoppers and Sam was the one to bring by boxes, carrying two this time.

“More supplies,” he said cheerfully. Charlotte allowed him into the storage room, and Sam set the boxes down before eyeing the stack of coins. “Very nice.”

“It’s going well,” Charlotte agreed. “I’m impressed, Mr. Adams.”

“I knew it would work, but thank you,” Sam responded with a smirk.

“All right, you’ve brought your delivery,” she said. “You’re free to go.”

“Dismissed so easily,” Sam complained as she ushered him from the storage room and towards the door. “Did our night together mean nothing to you?”

"Maybe it did at one point, but not any longer," Charlotte answered.

"And is Paul the cause?" Charlotte stopped trying to eject him from the shop, and Sam turned around. "He is, isn’t he?”

"I am not in love with him," Charlotte muttered.

"I never said that," Sam said, frowning. "But since you did…”

Charlotte looked up at him. “It doesn’t mean anything!” she said sternly.

“Doesn’t it?”

Charlotte let out a breath and shook her head. “I don’t love him,” she decided. “I just think I do because he saved my life, right?”

“I couldn’t tell you,” Sam answered. He glanced around the shop for a moment. Why did he look so sad, all of a sudden? Charlotte would never figure him out fully. “Listen, Char,” he said at last, “I really think you should say something.”

“And why is that?” Charlotte queried, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Just… sometimes you don’t do something, and you regret it later,” Sam replied. It was a rather evasive answer to Charlotte, but Sam moved on before she could ask him to elaborate. “I don’t want you to regret anything.”

“It could be a mistake,” Charlotte said softly.

“I don’t think it will be,” Sam responded. “Think about it - you could have met Paul just for this reason. Maybe you were supposed to meet.”

“I don’t want to do this on the basis of “maybe”, Sam.”

"Charlotte, who are you talking to down there?" her mother called from upstairs.

"No one," Charlotte replied, staring at her companion. "You need to go."

"I think you should tell him, Char," he said softly

"I can't."

"If you don’t, you might miss your chance. Just… take that into consideration, from someone who has made that mistake before." Sam walked from the shop, and Charlotte closed the door before retreating to the counter. She placed her elbows on the top and hung her head in her hands.

The door opened, and Charlotte sniffed. "What can I help you with?" she asked the customer, not looking up.

Whoever it was set one of the special coins down on the counter, and Charlotte glanced up to be face to face with Paul Revere.

"I don't have to pay to see you, do I?" he asked her.

"No," Charlotte answered quietly. "Of course not."

"You didn't come see me today at my shop," Paul explained. "I got worried."

"We've been busy," Charlotte explained, sliding the coin back and forth across the counter top. "If I had gotten the chance I probably would've visited you."

"Probably?" She nodded, and Paul put his hand over hers to stop the coin. She raised her eyes to his. "Is there something wrong, Charlie?"

"Uh -"

"Mr. Revere!" Thank God for small miracles. Her mother came down the stairs, which caused Paul to remove his hand. Charlotte used her own to brush back a strand of hair as her mother looked Paul over. "I hope you aren't here to snoop around and see what I'm cooking for tomorrow."

Paul smiled. "Nothing so vile. I was just coming to check on Charlotte. I'm used to seeing her everyday, and when I didn't see her today, I started to worry."

"Well, that's just sweet!" Mrs. Mills said. "Charlotte, what do you have to say?"

Charlotte met Paul's eyes. "I'm sorry that I worried you," she said quietly. "But the shop comes first."

"A concept which I understand completely," Paul replied. "I should be returning to my own." He held out his hand, and Charlotte hesitated a moment before putting her own in it. She dropped the coin into his palm, and Paul brought her hand up and kissed the back of it. "I will see you both tomorrow," he said, meeting Charlotte's eyes again. He then released her hand. "Good day, ladies."

When he was out of the shop, Harriet Mills looked at her daughter. "Marry him."

"Oh, mother," Charlotte sighed, gazing out the front window after him.

"I'm serious," Mrs. Mills insisted. "He's wonderful."

Charlotte let out another sigh and leaned her forehead against the glass. "Yes," she agreed softly. "He is."

\--

Paul Revere made his way back towards his workshop, flipping his coin in the air over his head with a dopey grin. As he walked, he crossed paths with Dr. Warren, who was leaving his shop.

"Warren," Paul greeted, the grin still on his face.

"What's that look for?" the doctor queried, pausing long enough to talk to him.

Paul stopped as well and shrugged, flipping his coin once more. "Can't a man smile?"

"Not like that for no reason," Warren answered, lifting an eyebrow. "What's on your mind?"

Paul let out a sigh and glanced up at the sky. "A beautiful woman," he said after a moment. "Charlotte Mills. You know her?"

"I do," Dr. Warren said, a smile of his own quirking up the corner of his mouth. "I should have guessed. Sam mentioned something a few moments ago."

"Did he?" Paul glanced past Warren towards his workshop, where Sam was apparently located. "I wonder what he knows that I don't."

"Why don't you ask him yourself?" Dr. Warren suggested.

Paul smiled again and nodded. "A very good idea. I'll do that now. Good to see you, Warren."

"Paul." He stopped walking away and glanced back at the doctor. Warren offered him a small grin. "Good choice."

Paul returned the grin. "I think so too, thanks." He turned and headed into the workshop and found the space bustling with activity. Men were loading wine bottles into boxes, Sam was seated at a table near the back of the room, counting excess bottles. Kelly was standing near the rear door that opened onto the back alley, helping load boxes into a wagon.

Paul closed the door behind him and nodded to a few men as he walked over to where Sam was. He glanced up at Paul's approach, and then looked back down at his parchment.

"Here to help, or are you just coming home?" he queried.

"I'm here to ask you what you know about a certain woman we are both acquainted with," Paul answered.

Immediately, Sam's quill stopped moving, though he didn't look up again. Instead, he cleared his throat and returned to writing after his slight hiccup.

"What is it you want to know?" he asked, voice noticeably less cheerful than it was previous to Paul's statement.

Paul seated himself on the edge of the table, brushing aside a few wine bottles to make space. "Warren tells me you were talking to him," he began, watching Sam's hand as he wrote, rather than his face. "What did you tell him?"

"Well, it wouldn't be fair to Charlotte if I told you," Sam responded, picking up his quill and dipping it into the inkwell nearby. He glanced up at Paul as he moved his hand to the blotter. "You won't leave me alone until I say something, though, will you?"

"It wouldn't be fair if you didn't tell me anything," Paul said with a smirk.

Sam let out a breath and set his quill down. "All right," he started. "I can tell you that Charlotte is having a hard time deciding whether or not she is in love with you, and I feel as though you are the same way."

Paul barely hesitated before he said, "No, I know very well what my feelings towards her are." Sam raised his eyebrow, and Paul spread his hands. "I'm drawn to her."

Sam's shoulders rose and fell. "You and me both, friend," he said softly.

"Ah, Sam," Paul said. "I'm sorry. I didn't know you were still -"

"No!" Sam said quickly with a shake of his head. Paul blinked, startled by Sam's interruption, and his friend let out a breathy laugh. "I mean... not... I'm not... I don't..." He slowed himself down and inhaled. "I meant to say that I do not still have feelings for Charlotte. I meant that I was drawn to her that night, just like you said you were."

Paul stared at Sam, wondering whether or not his friend was telling the truth. After a moment, however, he shook his head and glanced off. "What is it about her, Sam?"

Sam let out a _hmmf_ and shook his head. "A year ago I could have written you a poem about what I saw in her." Paul looked at him, and Sam gave him a smile. "Maybe you should write a poem instead."

"I'm not exactly the best with words," Paul said with a grin.

"Me neither," Sam answered. He looked down at his parchment and messed with it momentarily. "Charlotte can't really be put into words, can she?"

"From what I know about her?" Paul shook his head. "I wouldn't even try." He furrowed his brow. "What makes her so special, Sam? I mean... I can't get my mind off of her."

Sam shrugged his shoulder, and Paul decided that the conversation needed to end before it got awkward. He stood up from the table and gave Sam a pat on the shoulder. "I think I'll try to find her tomorrow and sort things out. Thank you, Sam."

"Yeah," Sam said absently, picking up his quill again.

Paul walked away from him and headed towards the rear room of his shop, the only place not occupied by the smugglers. He pulled off his coat and set it down on a chair before starting up a fire and reaching into the tub beside his work table.

He pulled out the silver teapot Charlotte had asked him to make, and smiled as he admired his half-finished work. It needed some polishing, both figuratively and literally.

 _It's not the only thing_ , Paul mused, gazing at his reflection. He frowned when he saw the soot mark on his forehead, and he attempted to rub it off with the back of his hand. It only spread the mark further, and he let out a frustrated grunt, annoyed that he'd gone to see Charlotte looking dirty. 

 _Not Charlotte - she's seen you up to your elbows in soot and fire. It's her mother you need to worry about. And her father._ Paul shuddered at the thought. He didn't even know what Charlotte's father was like, and already, he was terrified of him.

_If he's going to be your father-in-law, you'll have to get over it._

Paul froze, gripping the half-finished teapot tightly in one hand. Father-in-law? When had he decided he was going to propose? When had he decided Charlotte was going to say yes?

Paul sighed heavily and put the teapot down before running a hand across his face. _There's no denying it,_ he decided after a moment. _You're in love with her, a_ _nd you're going to learn if she's in love with you so that you can get married, and you won't be alone anymore._

Paul grunted and shook his head. "What a plan."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... there's that. What's Sam got going on in his head, I wonder? He's hard to read sometimes.  
> And then there's Paul. What a babe, honestly.  
> Anyhow, if you want to check out my Tumblr (it's mostly history trash, but occasionally there's something worth looking at), you can find me @smigglewiggy.  
> Yes, I use the same username for everything. Who doesn't?


	4. (Revel)ations!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Paul and Charlotte come to their senses, and things get kind of cutesy.

“Charlotte.” She paused in her strolling and turned, smiling when she saw Paul Revere approaching. He returned the grin as he reached her, and offered her his arm. She accepted it, and they continued walking.

“Are you ready for dinner this evening?” she asked him.

Paul raised an eyebrow. “Is it something I should prepare for?” he queried, smirking.

“Supper? With my mother? Yes, it is almost definitely something you should prepare for,” Charlotte promised with a laugh. Sam’s words from the day before once again floated through her mind, and she silently cursed the man before she spoke again: “You’ll get a good meal, though.”

“I could use one,” Paul said. “I’m afraid I’m not a very good cook, when I do cook.”

“Maybe I’ll have to teach you a thing or two,” Charlotte suggested, though what she was thinking was, _I’d cook for you all the time if we were married._

It was ridiculous, how quickly she’d moved on from Daniel to this silversmith she’d met only a week ago. And yet, it was almost as though she was supposed to have met Paul, like Sam had said. She felt as though she’d known him for ages, even though they had barely had a full length conversation.

She decided then that before she started to fall for this man anymore, they needed to talk.

“Paul,” she began. He looked at her, and she studied the cobblestone as they walked. “What is your favorite color?”

He frowned. “My favorite color?” She nodded, and he moved his eyes away from her, looking down the street. “Huh. No one has ever asked me that.”

“You do have one, though, don’t you?” Charlotte pressed, suddenly wondering if she had made a poor decision.

Paul’s frown turned into a grin, and he nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “It’s red. But not… hard red, you know? Like… orange-red. Fiery red.”

I could have guessed that, Charlotte thought, and then frowned. No, she couldn’t have. She needed to stop thinking this way.

“What’s yours?” Paul asked her, and she managed a smile.

“Yellow.”

“Ah,” Paul said, reaching over with his free hand and brushing a strand of hair out of her eyes. “Like your silky locks, or a sunflower?”

“My hair is not yellow!”

“You sure about that?” Paul queried.

“Of course,” Charlotte said stubbornly, reaching up and patting it. “It’s gold. In which case, yes, I prefer my hair color to that of a sunflower.”

Paul chuckled to himself and glanced up as they passed Dr. Warren’s home. He was standing outside, and smiled as they approached.

“Lovely day for a stroll,” he commented.

“Indeed,” Paul agreed. “We were just discussing colors.” He looked at Charlotte. “What color would you say is your favorite, Joseph?”

“Green,” Doctor Warren answered at once.

“Knew that already,” Paul said to Charlotte, who grinned.

“Are you two going somewhere specific?” Warren queried.

“No,” Charlotte answered. “Just walking. Paul is eating with my family this evening.”

“That’s nice,” Warren said with a knowing smile. He glanced from her to Paul before looking up at the sky. “I should get ready for my next patient. Have a good walk.” He winked and then disappeared into his home, leaving Charlotte to curse Sam once more in her mind. He must have been talking to Warren.

“Sam Adams,” she muttered under her breath, causing Paul to look down at her in question.

“Something against Sam?”

“He needs to keep his nose in his own business,” she muttered sourly.

Paul shook his head. “Not something Sam is known for, I’m afraid.”

“I know, and it bothers me.” Charlotte sighed and stopped walking, pulling Paul to a stop along with her. He looked at her with a lifted eyebrow, and she shook her head. "You wanted to know where I was going, the day you saved me, right?" 

"You don't need to tell me," Paul said. "It's your business, not mine."

"No, but you should know," Charlotte answered. She inhaled and then let it out before meeting his eyes. They were a light brown, and glittered with warmth as he gazed back at her, waiting. Any hesitation she felt to tell him about her previous relationship faded. "I was riding to Lexington to return an engagement ring."

Paul blinked, twice. "Really?" he asked after a moment. Charlotte nodded, and Paul looked down at the ground. "Huh."

Charlotte worried her bottom lip between her teeth, her nerves returning. "His name was Daniel, and he was a lawyer from New York. He was in Boston for some business, and we met in a tavern. I guess something about me drew him in, and within a month, he was asking me to marry him. I didn't... I didn't feel the same, but I told him I would think about it." She cringed. "I took a long time to do that, and he left after two months of waiting. I forgot to give him the ring back, though, so I was riding towards Lexington to do that, because I knew he was staying there."

She tried to gauge Paul's reaction to what she had told him so far, but he wasn't giving her anything to go off of. After a moment of silence, however, he lifted his shoulders.

"You didn't want to marry him," he said. "That was your choice." He then grinned. "Glad that your decision led to us meeting, though."

Charlotte returned the smile, relief filling her. "So am I." She remembered what Sam had said, about her and Paul being meant to meet. She decided then that, while they were on the subject of Sam, she might as well keep going with it while she had the nerve. 

Instead of taking a ginger approach, like she should have, she just came out and said it. “Sam seems to believe that I am in love with you. Has he spoken to you about this?”

Paul was quiet for a moment. “Well, not with those words, but yes,” he finally replied. He then tilted his head. “Do you think he’s mistaken?”

“No, but that’s the problem, isn’t it?” Charlotte asked him. “We met a week ago, and even so, I feel like I’ve known you for ages.”

Paul didn’t speak for a moment, and Charlotte worried her lower lip between her teeth. Again. Had she been too forward? “I apologize, but I couldn’t keep it to myself any longer. I needed to know if you felt the same,” she said softly.

“I do,” Paul replied, meeting her gaze. “I… this is going to sound ridiculous, but I knew your favorite color was yellow.”

Despite herself, Charlotte let out a laugh. “I’m sorry,” she said quickly, covering her mouth. “I just… I knew what your favorite color was, too.”

Paul grinned and glanced around before he took her hand in his and pulled her into an alleyway between two buildings. “I could guess how you like your tea, and that you want to get your parents out of Boston for your father’s health, but also because it’s dangerous here and you want to be a part of the rebellion without your parents being threatened by it,” he said once they were out of view of passerby.

“I could guess that you’re lonely, and you wish your practice was more established so that you wouldn’t have to rely on other jobs to make money, despite the fact you enjoy doing them,” Charlotte said. “And that you want freedom for every colony, not just Massachusetts, and that you’ll go to war for it.” She grinned. “I could tell you that you’re mad for thinking this way, and then you’ll tell me that I have no right to speak that way because I feel the exact same way. And you’d be right.”

Paul rested his hand against the angle of her neck, and Charlotte blinked up at him. “I would say that you are being very forward, Mr. Revere, but I believe we’re past that, aren’t we?” she asked, her voice low.

“You have French roots, don’t you?” Paul asked her. Charlotte drew her eyebrows together, but nodded, and he grinned. “Your name gives it away.”

“Paul -”

“I think this dinner with your parents is smart,” he said, moving his hand to her cheek.

“Why?” she managed.

“So they can get to know me before I ask their permission to marry you,” he answered simply.

She blinked at him in surprise. “Marriage? Mr. Revere -”

“Would you say no?” he queried, and Charlotte hesitated only briefly before shaking her head, knowing she’d be lying if she had nodded. “Good,” Paul said. “I didn’t want to make myself a fool.”

“I think we’re both fools,” Charlotte replied. “It’s only been a week.”

“Are you sure about that?” he asked her.

Charlotte didn’t know how to respond.

“I won’t be asking today, Charlie,” he said. “Soon, though. I feel like I need you.”

“You do realize Sam won’t let us hear the end of this,” she warned, and Paul nodded.

“At least there won’t be pressure on us to tell one another anymore.”

Charlotte had to smile, and she nodded. “True enough, I suppose.”

\--

A month went by, then two. Charlotte was starting to get impatient.

“It’s been a good length of time,” she commented to Paul, doing her best to sound airy.

He looked up from the object he was working on and grinned. “Worried I’ve forgotten?” he asked her, moving away from the fire and joining her at the table she was seated at.

“No,” Charlotte answered with a shake of her head. “I don’t doubt it’s been on the forefront of your mind.”

They were sitting in one of the lesser used parts of Paul’s workshop. Out in the main room, Sam and the other rebels were working on their business, getting wine out to the shops that needed it, and counting the money that was brought in from sales. Charlotte had to admit that things were going well, even though every time a Redcoat passed by her own shop her heart would stop.

Paul walked around behind her and rested his hands on her shoulders. “I just have one last thing to do before I ask, Charlie,” he said.

“What is it, pray tell?” she questioned. She could almost see the smirk on Paul’s face as he rubbed her shoulders briefly and returned to the fire he’d abandoned, picking up whatever he had been working on. He held it behind his back as he turned to face her.

“Do you remember how you asked me to make you that thing when we first met?” he asked, coming closer.

“Yes,” Charlotte replied. “Have you done it?” Paul grinned and removed his hand from behind his back. Charlotte let out a chuckle when she saw the silver teapot covered in a cloth. She accepted it from him, making sure to only hold it where it was covered, and examined it.

“It’s beautiful,” she said at last. “My mother will love it. Thank you.”

“I’m hoping the teapot will be enough to get into her graces, if I’m not there already,” Paul explained as she passed it back to him.  

Charlotte grinned and rose, following him towards the fire. “Are you kidding? She loves you. It’s my father you need to worry about.”

“Don’t be mistaken,” Paul said. “I am worried.” He let out a breath as she slid her arms around his waist and hugged him. “I’ll figure out something to say, I’m sure.”

There was a knock on the door, and then it opened, revealing someone Charlotte had never seen before. He stepped cautiously into the room, scanning it for someone. He looked rich, unlike most of the men Charlotte had gotten familiar with. He also looked nervous, something that was also uncommon amongst the men who were apart of the circle.

“Apologies,” he said after a moment. “I was searching for Mr. Adams.”

“You might want to try upstairs,” Paul told him as Charlotte pressed herself against his side. “He likes to steal my ale.”

“Right,” the man said. “Thank you.” He gazed at Charlotte for a moment before coming over to where they stood and offering his hand. “I’m afraid I haven’t seen you before, miss. My name is John Hancock.”

Ah. Paul had told her about him. Hancock was supplying the wine.

She smiled and accepted his hand. “Charlotte Mills.” He lifted an eyebrow in surprise, and she looked up at Paul. “My parents own one of the shops in the ring.”

“I see,” John replied. “I had just assumed that you were Mr. Revere’s wife.”

Paul grinned, and Charlotte glared at him for a moment before saying, “Not quite yet.”

“So you are engaged, then?” John queried.

“Soon to be,” Paul answered for her. “I was going to ask her father for permission this evening, actually.”

John frowned, but didn’t say anything. Instead, he looked at Charlotte. “Well, I sincerely hope that, if you do marry, you will be happy.”

Before Charlotte could respond, the door flew open, and Kelly bustled in. “Lottie, you need to come with me,” he said, hurrying over to them.

Charlotte moved away from Paul and stopped Kelly by putting her hands on his shoulders. It wasn’t an easy reach; he was much taller than her. “What’s the matter?” she asked, her eyebrows coming together.

“Hutchinson found out about the ring,” he said, looking around at them all. “The Redcoats are going to all the shops to deal with the rebels.”

“My parents…” Charlotte whispered. “Oh God.” She quickly brushed past him and ran out of Paul’s workshop, heading for the fabric store. All around, Redcoats were pulling shop owners out onto the streets and beating them senseless with their bayonets if they fought back.  

Charlotte swallowed thickly as she neared the shop, praying the Redcoats hadn’t gotten there first.

They hadn’t, and she quickly entered through the front door and closed it, making sure to lock it behind her. Without pausing, she rushed to the storage room and looked inside. It was mostly empty; she had brought her share of profits when she’d gone to Paul’s workshop. The only evidence was the one remaining cask of wine that was sitting on the table.

“Shit,” she muttered, wondering what the hell she was supposed to do with it.

Before she could come up with a plan, the door to the shop was banging open, and she heard a Redcoat shout, “Find the wine!”

Charlotte backed up against the table, watching the handle of the storage room. She winced as it started to shake, and then closed her eyes, turning her head away. She was in so much trouble.

“Hey!” Her eyes flew open at a familiar voice, and she hurried to the door, pressing her ear against it. “Get out of this shop right now.”

Sam.

“Mr. Adams, we meet again,” a Redcoat said.

“These people had nothing to do with the ring,” Sam told him.

“Is that so?” the Redcoat queried. “And we’re supposed to believe you?”

“Yes,” Sam answered. “I’m the leader of it, aren’t I? Shouldn’t I know which shops were apart of my rebellion?”

“Is this you admitting to your guilt?” the Redcoat asked.

“Yes,” Sam agreed. “Leave this shop, and I’ll come with you to see Governor Hutchinson.”

Charlotte leaned her forehead against the door, closing her eyes. “Oh, Sam,” she whispered, listening as the Redcoats shuffled out of the shop, most likely taking Sam with them. She opened the door and peered out into the shop. It was empty, the door hanging open.

She stepped out into the main room, letting out a breath as she shut the storage room door. She then went to the front door and looked outside. The Redcoats were disappearing down the street, Sam in the middle of them.

Charlotte closed her eyes for a moment and then let out another breath.

“Charlotte!” Her mother was hurrying down the stairs, her hair only partially done. “What in the world happened down here?” she demanded.

Before Charlotte could reply, Paul was there, coming in through the door. He came over to Charlotte and took her face in his hands. “Are you all right?” he asked her.

She managed a nod, and he let out a relieved breath before resting his forehead against hers. His eyes then shifted to where her mother stood, and he immediately stepped away, leaving Charlotte to cringe at the loss of his warmth on her skin.

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” he said. “I was worried about Charlotte. The Redcoats came in here, acting like they meant to tear the place down. They seemed to think you were apart of this… circle of rebel shops. Sam Adams convince them otherwise.”

“I should say so!” Charlotte’s mother exclaimed. “Us, rebels. What folly!”

Charlotte father appeared behind her, looking exhausted. “What in the name of God is happening down here?” he asked, giving Paul an evil look.

“The Redcoats thought we were rebels,” Harriet Mills explained. “Isn’t that ridiculous, Henry?”

“Hmm, indeed,” Henry Mills agreed. “Are you here for a specific reason, Mr. Revere?”

“Just to check on your daughter, sir,” Paul answered. “I feared the Redcoats were going to harm her. She seems to be all right, though.” He looked at Charlotte for a moment longer before turning back to her parents. “I will still be joining you for supper, I hope?”

“Of course!” Harriet Mills answered. “We love to have you, Mr. Revere, don’t we, Henry?”

“Hmmf,” Charlotte father muttered in response, turning to go back upstairs. At his leave, Paul visibly relaxed, and Charlotte slid an inch closer to him.

“I suppose I could give this to you now,” Paul decided after a moment, pulling out the silver teapot from Lord knew where. He stepped forward and offered it to Mrs. Mills, whose eyes had grown wide.

“Thank you, Mr. Revere,” she said, accepting it. “It’s beautiful work.”

“You flatter me,” Paul said with a smile. “Besides, it was Charlotte’s suggestion.”

“Was it?” Mrs. Mills queried, looking at her daughter. “Well, she was right. I did need a new teapot. I will see you this evening, Mr. Revere. Thank you, again.”

She gave Charlotte a final look before heading upstairs. As soon as she was out of sight, Charlotte sank into Paul’s embrace. “They took Sam,” she whispered against his chest.

“I’m sure he’ll be fine,” Paul said. “He knew what he was doing when he came in here.”

“Did he?” Charlotte asked weakly. Paul didn’t answer, and she swallowed before pulling away from him and meeting his eyes. “Do you know what you’ll be doing when you come in here tonight?”

“Don’t ask me that,” Paul said, managing a grin. “Your father is terrifying, Charlie.”

Charlotte laughed and brushed a strand of hair out of his eyes. “You’ll be fine,” she assured.

“I hope so,” Paul answered.

Later that evening, after supper had been eaten, Charlotte stood in the kitchen with her mother, washing dishes, as Paul chatted with Henry Mills in the sitting room. She could barely focus on her task, and several times, she almost dropped a glass.

“What’s the matter with you?” Harriet Mills asked her.

“Nothing,” Charlotte answered softly, peering around the corner into the sitting room. Both men were seated in armchairs, and Paul was doing his best to keep from fidgeting as he spoke to her father. Henry stared at Paul without blinking, and Charlotte had to smile to herself as she ducked back into the kitchen.

Harriet eyed her daughter for a moment before going over to where Charlotte had previously been and looking into the sitting room herself. “Is something happening in there that I should be worried about?” she asked Charlotte after a moment.

“I wouldn’t say worried, no,” Charlotte answered, busying herself with drying a plate.

“Charlotte?”

“Fine.” Both women stopped as Henry Mills’s voice came to them from the other room. Immediately, Charlotte hurried over to the doorway and looked in at the men. Her father was standing, holding out his hand to Paul. “You have my permission.”

Paul’s face broke out into a smile, and he stood as well, accepting Henry’s handshake. “Thank you, sir,” he said. “I swear to you that your daughter will know nothing but happiness with me.”

“You best hope so, lad,” Henry Mills replied. “Harriet! I’m going to bed!”

“I’ll be there shortly,” Harriet responded, looking at Charlotte with a raised eyebrow. Charlotte ignored her, and she walked into the sitting room. Paul’s grin grew when he saw her, and he slipped his hand into his pocket, pulling out a silver ring.

“Charlotte Mills,” he said, “would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

“I would be glad,” Charlotte answered, returning the smile. Paul slid the ring on her left hand’s ring finger, and she admired it for a moment before wrapping her arms around Paul’s neck and hugging him tightly.

Paul put his own around her waist and pulled her close. The two fit together in such a way that there were no spaces left between them, and Harriet Mills smiled to herself when she saw it.

“At last,” she sighed, falling into a chair at the kitchen table.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I'm doing the thing. Because historical inaccuracies, folks. Besides, at least they aren't getting married as quickly as Alexander Hamilton and Eliza Schuyler. Those cats waited like... a month.
> 
> Also, if anyone can find the two small references hidden in this chapter, you'll win a prize.  
> Not a real prize, of course. A figurative prize. :)


	5. Regret and Weddings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Paul and Charlotte get married, and Sam has regrets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This should have been posted yesterday, but y'know. Choir rehearsals.  
> Apparently, my brain has decided Mondays and Fridays will be posting days. Good for you, brain. Thanks for not asking my permission first.

No more than two weeks later, Paul was with his friends at the Green Dragon, celebrating for the evening. The next day, he and Charlotte would be married in Town Hall Square. Her mother had denied Charlotte the small wedding at the courthouse she’d wanted, and Paul had merely smiled in response to Charlotte’s complaints.

In truth, he didn’t have a preference to how they got married. He just wanted Charlotte to say “I do”, and then she would be his.

Sam came over to where he was standing by the bar and slapped a hand against his shoulder. He had barely been touched by his admittance to being the leader of the smuggling ring, and he was still celebrating over the night before, when he and a group of rebels had marked up the Tory shops in Boston with painted T’s.

“Paul, my man!” he exclaimed above the raucous sounds of men playing cards at a table nearby. “I am so very proud of you.”

“Thank you, Sam,” Paul replied with a smile. “I appreciate it.”

“I just can’t get over the fact that you are finally settling down,” Sam went on, waving his hand for another mug. “I mean, not only are you getting married, but it’s to Charlotte! You are a very lucky man.”

“I know,” Paul agreed.

“Any man would be a fool to throw her away,” Sam continued, his tone beginning to lower, as did his eyes. He accepted the mug Isaac brought to him, and looked down at the dark beer inside it. “Foolish,” he murmured, speaking to himself now.

Paul remembered, not for the first time, that Sam and Charlotte had spent an evening together. It appeared as though Sam was regretting his decision to leave it at the one night, and Paul frowned to himself. Would he have to worry about his friend trying to move on Charlotte?

No, of course not. Sam was a good man, and Charlotte had made it clear that she didn’t have any interest in him. Perhaps the reason the relationship between the two hadn’t blossomed was so that one could form between himself and Charlotte.

Paul gazed at Sam, waiting for him to emerge from his lamenting. When Sam blinked and his grin returned, it was weaker than his had been before. He patted Paul’s shoulder again and said, “Congratulations, Paul.”

“Thanks Sam,” Paul answered. Sam nodded once and slid away, disappearing into the crowd. Paul watched him go, and then glanced over at Joseph Warren, who had joined him at the bar.

“I would keep an eye on him,” the doctor suggested.

“Why?” Paul queried. “I trust him.”

“So do I,” Warren answered, “when he’s sober.”

Paul frowned and glanced again at the place Sam had disappeared. Was Warren right?

In her own home, Charlotte was in the storage room of the fabric shop, playing with the skirt of her wedding dress. She hadn’t wanted one at first, but her mother had insisted, saying that any sensible bride wore one.

Charlotte didn’t want to admit it, but her mother did know more about marriage than she did. And, she had made the woman wait long enough. She figured it was only fair she allowed Harriet Mills to plan the ceremony and celebration that would take place afterwards. She disliked the fact that a few Redcoats would be there to watch and make sure nothing happened, but she knew it was pointless to argue, considering what had happened only a few weeks previous.

There was a knock on the shop’s door, and Charlotte frowned to herself. Who in the world could be at the shop at eight at night? She draped a sheet back over her dress and went into the main room. She then peered past the curtain that was pulled down over the window on the front door and felt her eyes widen.

She opened the door. “Sam? What are you doing here?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted, and she winced against the alcohol on his breath. “I shouldn’t be here, but I am.”

“Is something wrong?” Charlotte asked him.

Sam managed a grin. “Just the mistake I made a year ago,” he answered.

“What do you mean?” Charlotte was starting to wonder whether or not she should shut the door in his face.

“You know what I mean, Charlotte,” he said softly.

“Sam, I think you should go,” Charlotte managed after staring at him for a moment. “You might do something you’ll regret.”

“I already regret doing something,” Sam replied, moving into the shop, which made Charlotte step backwards. She closed her eyes and turned her head away from him as he leaned towards her. “I should have gone back to that tavern,” he whispered.

“You’re drunk,” Charlotte said, putting her hands against his chest in an effort to push him away. “Go home, Sam.”

“You should be marrying me,” Sam said, ignoring her. “You have to admit that night was one of the best you’ve had, Char.”

Charlotte gazed up at him. “I would be lying if I said no,” she said at last, “but I’m not yours, Sam.”

“No,” he answered. “You’re not, and it’s my fault.”

“Sam, please go,” Charlotte urged. “You are going to be in so much trouble if Paul or my parents realize you’re here.”

“I just needed to see you one last time before I couldn’t look at you the same way I do now ever again,” Sam murmured. Charlotte stiffened as he used a finger to push a strand of her hair behind her ear, and then trailed his fingertips across her cheek and down to her neck. “Did you ever think you could love me?” he asked her after a moment.

“Maybe once,” Charlotte allowed, knowing she should move away, and yet she couldn’t. “I… I thought I did, for a while, but then I realized that I shouldn’t linger on the thought of you, since it was apparent you weren’t coming back.”

“I wasted my chance,” Sam whispered. “I should have gone back to the tavern.”

“Sam, you need to leave,” Charlotte insisted, her voice breaking as he ran his thumb across her bottom lip. “Please.”

“Can I kiss you, one more time?” Sam questioned, meeting her eyes. Charlotte struggled to pull her gaze away, but the chocolaty brown depths of his eyes held her where she stood. Why was it so hard to say no to him?

Before she could say anything, however, there was movement by the front door, and she was pulled out of her trance. She moved away from Sam to see Paul standing in the doorway. Quickly, she hurried over to him, and he pulled her into his arms, keeping his eyes on Sam all the while.

“Go home, Sam,” he said stiffly to his friend. “Now.”

“Paul, I -”

“I know,” he said with a nod. “Don’t worry about it. Just leave.”

Sam shuffled towards the door, pausing beside them. “I’m sorry, Charlotte,” he said quietly.

“It’s all right, Sam,” she answered, before turning her head away from him.

Sam walked out the door and into the dark streets of Boston. When he had disappeared, Charlotte buried her face in Paul’s chest. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “He wouldn’t leave, and I… I didn’t know what to do.”

“It’s all right,” Paul soothed. “You were smart not to fight him; he was drunk.”

“I could tell,” Charlotte agreed, hugging him tightly. “You know I would never do anything with him, though, don’t you?”

Paul hesitated a moment before saying, “Yes.”

Charlotte noticed his hesitation, and raised her eyes to meet his. “You don’t,” she said quietly, her brow furrowing.

“Charlie -” She pulled away from him, and Paul let out a breath. “I didn’t, not at first. But now I do.”

“Why didn’t you before?” she demanded. “I love _you_ , Paul.”

“I know,” Paul said quickly. “And I love you. I just… I know you and Sam have history, and I was worried that might have been enough for you to give in to him. But it wasn’t, clearly, and you have no idea how relieved I am.” He stepped towards her. “I know that I have no reason to doubt you, now.”

“You shouldn’t have in the first place, though I understand why you did,” Charlotte murmured. She let out a breath and allowed Paul to pull her into another hug. “I shouldn’t have even opened the door.”

Paul let her pull back, and he stroked a thumb across her cheekbone. “I can’t believe tomorrow you’re going to be my wife,” he said after a moment.

“I’ll be Charlotte Revere,” she agreed with a grin. “Has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?”

“I think so,” Paul answered. There was the sound of movement from the floor above, and he glanced upwards before looking back at her. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Until then,” Charlotte said.

Paul ducked out of the shop, and she watched him disappear into the night before smiling to herself and shutting the door.

The following day, just as the sun was at its highest point in the sky, Charlotte and her father were standing in the doorway of the courthouse, looking out at the gathered group of Boston citizens. Charlotte could see Kelly and Dr. Warren and Sam, who looked uncomfortable. Warren was standing next to Paul at the end of the white aisle, beneath the wooden arch that had been constructed for the wedding. Vines had been wrapped through the holes in the lattice-work, and Charlotte grinned to herself. Her mother had agreed to the “no flowers” rule.

“Are you ready, Lottie?” her father asked her.

Charlotte let out a breath and nodded once. “I believe I am, yes,” she agreed, accepting his arm. “Are you?”

“No,” Henry Mills answered with a shake of his head, “and I will never be.” He smiled and looked over at her. “Your mother and I are very proud of you.”

“For taking so long to choose a husband?”

“For waiting until you found the right man.”

Charlotte smiled and bowed her head. “Thank you, father,” she said quietly.

“Come on, then,” he said. “My legs are starting to get stiff.”

She chuckled, and the small band outside was cued in by a nod from her mother. The stringed instrument players started with their tune, and Charlotte and her father emerged from the shadow of the courthouse into the sunlight.

The wedding guests rose and watched as Charlotte was led down the aisle by her father. She kept her eyes on Paul the whole way, and as she got closer, Paul’s grin grew wider. When they reached him, and her father turned to face her.

He lifted the lacy veil that was covering her face, and placed a kiss on her forehead before sliding her hand into Paul’s. Paul nodded to Henry before pulling Charlotte up so that she was standing next to him.

“Who gives this woman to this man?” the minister before them queried.

Her father had remained standing long enough to say, “Her mother and I do.” Charlotte smiled at him, and he winked before sitting down with the rest of the wedding attendees.

Charlotte and Paul returned their attention to the minister, who went about his business. All Charlotte could do was gaze at her soon-to-be husband, and Paul at his soon-to-be wife. They were unaware of anything other than one another, and people noticed, Sam included.

He let out a breath and shifted in his seat. Kelly, who was seated beside him, rested a hand on his shoulder. “Easy,” he said quietly. “I know it’s hard, but this is how it is.”

“I know,” Sam answered, “and I’m happy for them. I just…” He let out a slow breath. “I shouldn’t have let her go.”

At the altar, the minister was finishing asking Paul the big question, and Paul’s grin grew, if that was even possible. “I do.”

The minister turned the question to Charlotte, who barely paused before saying, “I do.”

“Then I now pronounce you husband and wife. Mr. Revere, you may kiss your bride,” the minister said.

“Gladly,” Paul replied. He placed his hands on Charlotte’s cheeks and lowered his lips to hers. Charlotte fell into him, wrapping her arms around his neck. Their first kiss.

Charlotte hadn't known she could feel this wonderful when she kissed someone, and yet, here was Paul, and he tasted of… home. And fire. There was definitely fire in the kiss they shared. Charlotte should have assumed their kisses would feel this way, but she never imagined them to be this perfect.

Only the applause of the wedding attendees brought her back, and she withdrew, with a small twinge of annoyance, from Paul’s embrace.

“We’ll have more time later,” Paul assured, sensing her distaste at having to end their kiss.

“Good,” Charlotte replied. She looked out towards the wedding goers and met Sam’s eyes for a brief moment. He looked down almost as soon as she spotted him, and she let out a breath.

Paul noticed, and he gave her a gentle squeeze. “It will be forgotten soon enough,” he said in her ear.

“I hope so,” Charlotte responded softly. “He’s too good a friend to the both of us to lose.”

\--

The party that followed the wedding was one of much dancing and music and happiness. Charlotte didn’t think she ever lost her grin as she was passed from one dancing partner to the next, until she found herself face to face with Samuel Adams.

The song ended right as they met, and people around them clapped and cheered as Sam let out a weary breath.

“Congratulations, Mrs. Revere,” he said. “I know you and Paul will be very happy.”

“Thank you, Mr. Adams,” Charlotte replied as the band struck up another tune. “I appreciate it.”

“Would you dance with me, once?” Sam asked her. “I have a feeling this will be the last time we can make contact without me feeling bad about it.”

“Are you sure that wasn’t last night?” Charlotte asked him, accepting his offered hand all the same. Sam cringed at the suggestion, and she smiled. “I’m only kidding, Samuel.”

They both looked over to where Paul was standing with Dr. Warren and Sam’s cousin, John Adams. Sam had to grin. “I haven’t seen him look that like for a long time,” he said to Charlotte. He paused. “No, wait, that’s the biggest lie I’ve ever told. He looks like that every time you’re nearby.”

Charlotte chuckled. “Did you ever look at someone that way, Sam?” she asked him. Sam’s grin faded, and Charlotte realized a moment too late she had asked the wrong question. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “That was a bad question. Forgive me.”

“Nothing to forgive,” Sam said after a moment, his smile starting to return as he spun her around in a circle. “I’ve looked at two woman the way Paul looks at you in my life. One was my wife, Elizabeth.”

“I’d forgotten you were married once,” Charlotte said. “You mentioned it, that night. Was she beautiful, Sam?”

“Yes,” Sam answered. “The most beautiful woman in the world.” He let out a sigh. “At least, she was, until I lost her.” He met her gaze. “Elizabeth was a dark beauty, the shadow of the moon.” He twirled Charlotte out away from him and then drew her back in, her back against his chest. “A few years later, after her death, I discovered a different kind of beauty. The fire of the sun.”

“Sam,” Charlotte warned, turning around to face him.

He gave her a sad smile. “I found a different beauty, but I lost that one, too,” he went on as the other wedding goers twirled around and past them. “I lost her to someone who earned her, and who will love her even better than I ever did, because I did love her, even though I only had one night to show it. Had I known I had more nights, I would have used them all, but I didn’t know, and it was for a reason.”

“Sam…”

“I loved her the moment I first looked at her, because that’s how fiery beauty works. You become the moth, and you’re drawn to the flame. If you’re lucky, the flame falls in love with you, and you stay alive. If not, you get too close, and you burn,” Sam said softly. The song ended, and applause rose up from the attendees. Sam bowed to her. “Congratulations, again, Mrs. Revere,” he whispered. “May you always be… satisfied.”

He disappeared into the crowd, leaving Charlotte to blink and wonder what the hell had just happened.

She gazed at the place where Sam had gone until a familiar scent of metal and smoke filled her nose, and arms wrapped around her waist. She put her hands over Paul’s and leaned her head back against his shoulder.

“Are you all right?” he asked softly, breath warm on her ear.

“Fine,” she answered, “though I wish I could say the same for Sam. He thinks he’s lost me. I don’t know how I can tell him we can be friends, when he’s worried that he’ll try something.”

“It will pass,” Paul promised. “It always does with Sam. Dance with me, Mrs. Revere?”

Charlotte grinned. “Of course.”

The party lasted until the sun began to set in the west, and people began to depart. Kelly stopped by and spoke in Paul’s ear before he left, and the silversmith hesitated for a moment before nodding. Kelly then turned to Charlotte and grinned, bowing.

“Congratulations, Lottie,” he said, straightening up again.

“Thank you, Mr. Kelly,” Charlotte answered with a smile. “And thank you for coming.” She then leaned towards him. “Keep an eye on Sam for me, will you?”

Kelly nodded in understanding. “Of course.” With that, he turned and shuffled off, leaving the newly wedded couple with only Charlotte’s mother and Doctor Warren. Henry Mills had retired home a few hours ago, his coughing bouts getting worse every time he inhaled. Charlotte’s mother had only returned when Henry had fallen asleep at home, and now she came over to her daughter and her son-in-law.

“You’ll be fine getting everything home?” she asked, meaning the stack of presents those who were able had brought. The biggest was a package from John Hancock, that had a big purple ribbon around it. Charlotte could only imagine what was inside.

She nodded to her mother. “We’ll be fine. Thank you, Mama, for everything.”

“Of course, my dear,” Harriet Mills answered, drawing Charlotte into an embrace. “I’d do anything for you.”

“Warren, you can help us move this, can’t you?” Paul asked his friend, who nodded at once.

“Of course,” he said, coming over.

“All right, I’ll come with you.” Paul pressed a kiss against Charlotte’s temple. “Are you going to stay here?” he queried.

“For a bit,” Charlotte replied. “I’ll be after you soon.”

“Don’t be long,” Paul said softly, and Charlotte felt the tension between the two of them spike as his eyes trailed down her body before he turned away to help Warren with the gifts.

Harriet stood with her daughter a moment longer before she squeezed her hand. “You’ll come see your father and I soon, won’t you?” she asked.

“Yes,” Charlotte answered. “We’ll make plans.”

“Good,” Harriet Mills said. She gave Charlotte another hug before heading away towards the fabric shop. Charlotte remained where she was, looking around. There wasn’t anything left of the wedding aside from the archway she and Paul had stood under. She smiled to herself and went over to it, resting her hand against the wood.

In the distance, she heard shouts and screams and glass breaking. She winced. Even with a wedding during the day, a riot _would_ begin as soon as night fell.

She sighed and picked up her skirts, deciding it was best if she got home before anything bad happened. She was almost out of Town Hall Square when she heard the shrieks and words of profanity coming closer. Quickly, she slid into an alleyway just as a man dressed in a fine suit sprinted by, a large mob of Boston citizens following closely behind. They chased him out of the square and up another street.

Charlotte remained where she was for a moment, debating on whether or not to follow. She then shook her head. It was her wedding night; she had a husband to get home too.

With a huff, she picked up her skirts again and set off for the workshop, arriving as Dr. Warren was leaving.

“Thank you for your help, Joseph,” she said with a smile, and he nodded, returning the grin.

“Congratulations, Charlotte. Have a good evening.” He winked, and turned, heading for his home. Charlotte rolled her eyes and headed into the house, only to be pushed back before she could enter by Paul.

“What in the world are you doing?” she asked him.

He only responded with a grin, and, before she knew what was happening, scooped her up into his arms and carried her across the threshold into the house. Charlotte giggled as he set her down and shut the door with his foot before pulling her against him with his arms around her waist.

Charlotte found his lips with hers and held him to her by wrapping her arms around his neck. Instead of bothering to try and make her break their kiss, Paul merely picked her up again and carried her up the stairs, heading for his, no, their bedroom. Once there, he kicked the door closed and started to take his jacket off, somehow managing to keep his lips on hers as he did so.

“Relax,” Charlotte laughed breathlessly against his mouth. “We have time.”

“Right,” Paul agreed, slowing down. He peeled off his jacket and began to undo the buttons on his vest until it was lying open. Charlotte took control, then, and unbuttoned his undershirt, revealing his chest. She rested a hand on the center of it, feeling it rise and fall with his breaths.

After a moment, she turned around and gestured for him to undo the buttons on her dress. He did, slowly, and soon the top was falling away, leaving her with only a corset and a single petticoat to deal with. Paul undid the latter first, and it fell to the floor heavily at Charlotte’s feet.

She rotated back around to face him again, and pushed off what remained of his upper clothing. Bare-chested, Paul took Charlotte in for a moment.

“This is going to be interesting,” he said at last.

“How so?” she queried.

“The last woman I was with, I paid for,” he explained. “It’s hard to get company here in Boston.”

Charlotte frowned. “That’s the last thing I want to hear about, Paul,” she said, and he laughed.

“You’re right, I’m sorry.” He reached for her corset and pulled out the laces. It fell off of her, and Charlotte was naked. Paul gazed at her, a strange hunger in his eyes that she hadn’t seen before. She smirked and came towards him, undoing his belt buckle and letting both his belt and breeches fall to the floor.

“Done,” she announced, and Paul quickly claimed her lips again, putting one hand on the back of her neck and the other on her lower back, pulling her against him. Charlotte allowed him to scoop her up and carry her to the bed, where he sat down first, with her on his lap.

Charlotte pushed him down onto his back and settled down on his hips, straddling him. “Where to start, my love?” she asked him, ready to settle in for a long night of lovemaking.

Just as Paul began to respond, a gunshot cracked out through the night air, coming in to them through the open window of the bedroom. They both jumped at the noise, and Charlotte slid off of Paul so he could stand and go to the window. He peered out into the night, and she watched him, his hair blown away from his neck by the wind.

“Where did that come from?” she whispered.

“I don’t know,” Paul answered, “but I imagine it can’t mean anything good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah... well... I guess that's that. Poor Sam.


	6. The Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which turns are drawn and the first moves are played.

Not surprisingly, a few days later, Charlotte and Paul joined Sam near the head of a funeral procession for the young boy who had been a part of the smuggling ring. The night of the wedding, the man the mob had been chasing had fired a bullet into the crowd and killed Christopher out of everybody. Charlotte didn’t know whether to be angry, or wonder how the bullet had managed to hit the boy when there were so many other targets.

Still, Sam was not happy whatsoever, and Charlotte tried to grab his jacket sleeve before he stormed over to stop Governor Hutchinson as he walked by. Unfortunately, she missed, and Sam got right in front of him, keeping him from moving with the rest of the people.

“How dare you show your face out here today?” Sam demanded of him.

Hutchinson glared at him. “I merely wish to pay my respects and to tell the family how sorry I am for their loss.”

“Well, you already put the father in prison,” Sam reminded him. “And now you’ve snuck away the man that killed their child.”

“London is the only place where he will get a fair trial,” Hutchinson decided, straightening his coat.

“You know that’s bullshit,” Paul said from where he stood by Charlotte, who looked up at him in warning.

Hutchinson looked from her husband to Sam, and back again. “The boy’s blood stains your hand far more than mine, Mr. Adams.” He glared at Paul a moment longer, and then scarred Sam with a scorching stare. “You know, I could have had you all arrested,” he said after a moment. “Perhaps I should.”

All the same, the governor turned and went back into his home, the Redcoats closing the gate behind him. The three of them watched the house as the rest of the procession walked silently by, before Sam snorted and turned to go after them.

“He’s hurting,” Paul said to Charlotte. “Did you notice how close he got to the boy?”

“Not really, no,” Charlotte replied, holding onto Paul’s arm as they followed at the end of the procession. “Anyone could tell he cared for him, though.” She buried her nose into his sleeve to try and warm it up, and Paul leaned down to kiss the top of her head. “I can’t believe he died on our wedding day,” she murmured.

“It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Doesn’t it?” Charlotte queried, looking up at him. “Are you sure?”

Paul didn’t respond, and Charlotte leaned her head against his arm with a sigh that came out as a white cloud.

The funeral procession went all the way through Boston and towards the cemetery on the outskirts of town. There, the minister read a few prayers from his Bible, and those who had carried Christopher’s coffin lowered it into the already dug grave.

That done, the Boston citizens started to make their way back to the city. Paul and Charlotte remained where they were, and Charlotte glanced around at the others, looking for Sam. She spotted him on the other side of the crowd, furiously digging into the solid ground, trying to get enough dirt to throw into the grave.

Those who had been given the job were standing nearby, watching Sam do their work. They exchanged tired looks before dropping their shovels and heading towards Boston with the rest of the procession. Charlotte watched them go before huffing and letting go of Paul’s arm. She hurried over to where Sam was and stopped.

“Sam.” He glanced at her, but did nothing other than that before continuing to dig. “Sam, stop.”

“It needs to get done, doesn’t it?” Sam asked her, his voice sounding like a growl. His digging was getting rougher and less controlled, and Charlotte took a step towards him.

“Sam, please, you’re not getting anywhere,” she said softly. He didn’t respond, and she placed her hand on his arm. He shook her off, and she frowned. "Listen to me. You can’t deal with you grief by being angry.”

Sam still didn’t speak, and his shovel banged uselessly against the hard ground. Charlotte glanced towards the pile of dirt that was sitting nearby, and then looked at Paul. Dr. Warren had appeared as well, and he nodded, understanding Charlotte’s gesture.

The two of them picked up the discarded shovels and started to toss the dirt into Christopher’s grave while Charlotte stepped closer to Sam and put her hand back on his arm. Sam tried to shake her off again, but she stayed where she was, even going as far as to put her hand around the shovel’s stick.

“Sam,” she said gently, pulling it away from him. Sam let it go willingly, and Charlotte tossed it to the side before looking back at him. His eyes were closed, and a single tear slid down his cheek and froze near his chin.

“Oh, Sam,” Charlotte murmured, pulling him into a hug. Sam bent down so that he could hide his face against her shoulder and wrapped his arms around her waist. Charlotte rubbed circles on his back, meeting Paul’s eyes from over Sam’s shoulder.

About an hour later, Charlotte was pouring tea into a cup for Sam, who was seated at the table in the small kitchen on the upper floor of Paul’s workshop. Sam was wrapped in a blanket and his chair was rotated so that he was getting as much warmth from the small wood burning stove as he could.

He accepted the tea from Charlotte and took a tentative sip.

“I know how you like it,” Charlotte told him. “I mean, I don’t know if your preference has changed over the year, but…”

“It’s good, thank you,” Sam said quietly.

Charlotte crossed her arms and leaned back against the table. “Paul and I were talking,” she began. “He said that if you wanted, you could stay here with us.”

Sam managed a small smile. “He’s too good to me,” he said, his voice low. “Him and John both. And Warren. They all deal with so much shit from me, and I don’t do anything for them in return.”

“You know why they put up with it, though, don’t you?” Charlotte asked. Sam looked up at her, and she gestured towards the stairs, in way of pointing towards the three men Sam had mentioned. “They all care about you. Love you.”

“Their mistake,” Sam said with a snort before taking another drink of tea.

“Stop it.”

“I mean it,” Sam said stubbornly. “What have I done for them?”

“You’re doing things for them right now,” Charlotte replied. He raised an eyebrow, and she offered him a slight smile. “You know what I mean.”

“I don’t think John much appreciates my rebellious attitude,” Sam commented, swallowing another sip of tea.

“Paul and Warren do,” Charlotte told him. “In fact, they share your rebellious attitude.” She met Sam’s gaze. “Perhaps it’s time we start this rebellion in earnest.”

“Do you really feel that way?” Sam queried.

Charlotte chuckled and went over to the box of sugar she’d scooped his two spoons out of. She pointed to it. “This box of sugar cost us 3 shillings.” She picked it up and offered it to him. “Does it look like it’s worth three shillings to you?”

Sam moved his eyes from the sugar box to hers. “What do you suggest we do, Charlotte?” he queried. “Dump their sugar imports into Boston Harbor?”

“All I know is that I’m tired of paying so much for something we all use every single day,” Charlotte responded simply. “Use that knowledge anyway you like.”

Sam started to reply, but Paul came up the stairs from the workshop, then, wiping his forehead with a handkerchief. He came over to Charlotte and slid an arm around her waist before looking at Sam.

“Are you doing better?” he asked, and Sam nodded.

“Yes, thank you. Charlotte’s tea has healing qualities.” He stood and reached for his hat. “I think, however, I’m going to go to the place I belong.”

“God, I hope you don’t mean the tavern,” Charlotte sighed.

“That’s exactly what I mean,” Sam said with a grin, the first legitimate grin she’d seen from him for almost a week. He winked at them both and disappeared down the stairs. Charlotte heard the front door shut, and she shook her head to herself before leaning into Paul’s chest.

“Well, it appears he’s back to his old self,” Paul commented.

“Not yet,” Charlotte replied softly. “Soon, though.”

“How do you mean?” Paul questioned.

“Oh, he just needs something to focus on,” Charlotte answered. “He’ll find it, eventually.”

\--

Late that evening, Charlotte was disturbed from her sleep by a gunshot, and then another. Three more followed, and she glanced towards where Paul was supposed to be lying beside her. The space was empty.

She frowned and quickly slid out of bed, flinching against the cold wood beneath her feet. She pulled on her robe and went over to the window, peering outside. From what she could see, the square the workshop was located in was empty.

She let out a breath, fogging up the window glass, and headed for the hallway. She then slowly went down the stairs into the workshop and glanced around. Where was Paul?

She was debating on whether or not to go out looking for him when the door opened, bringing with it a gust of cold air, which was immediately followed by warmth as Paul wrapped his arms around her.

“What the hell happened out there?” she demanded, pushing away from him so that she meet his gaze.

He let out a breath. “There was rioting in the square,” he said quietly. “The Redcoats fired, killed five citizens.”

Charlotte’s eyes went wide, and she had to step away from him as she struggled to get her breathing to even out.

“Charlie,” Paul said, coming towards her. He took her hands and placed them on his chest so that she could feel the rhythm of his breathing. Charlotte forced herself to breath with him, and she was back on track after a moment.

She then fell against him, swallowing a sob. “What has this come too?” she whispered. “How much worse can it get before everyone realizes it’s time to make a move?”

Paul used one hand to cup her chin and raise her head. “I’ll make sure everyone in Massachusetts knows,” he said. “If we’re lucky, maybe the news will spread to the other colonies. This is bigger than anything that has happened before; people have to listen.”

“What are you going to do?” Charlotte asked him.

“I’m going to make something,” he responded, moving past her into the workshop. “Something that shows exactly what happened tonight on King Street.” He grinned at her, the fire he’d started making his face glow. “With a few small embellishments.”

Before Charlotte could answer, there was a knock on the door. She went over to it and peered outside, letting out a sigh when she saw who it was. She then opened the door and hurried Sam into the workshop before shutting it again.

“Dammit, Sam,” she sighed, pressing a gentle thumb against the cut on his forehead. “Can’t you go a week without getting hurt?”

He shook his head. “I don’t think so. Not anymore.”

Charlotte shook her head and took his hand. “Come on,” she said. “Let me clean that. We shouldn’t disturb the artist at his work.” She nodded to Paul, who was furiously drawing something on a piece of parchment he’d dug out from beneath his tools.

Sam willingly followed her up the stairs to the kitchen, where she wet a cloth and brought it over to him. Sam had seated himself in a chair, and he looked up at her approach.

“Do you want to do it yourself?” she queried, offering the rag to him. He merely grinned up at her, and Charlotte rolled her eyes to the ceiling before pressing the edge of the rag against the wound. Sam flinched, and she glared at him. “You could do it yourself.”

“It will still hurt,” Sam said.

Charlotte shook her head and finished cleaning the blood off before she leaned closer to try and see it. Truth was, she could barely see the wound in the dim lighting the candle on the table provided. She reached over and grabbed it, holding it closer to Sam’s face.

“Hey, hey, watch what you’re doing!” he exclaimed. “You could set my hair on fire.”

“Wouldn’t hurt me any,” Charlotte replied, studying the cut. It didn’t look too deep, and it was no longer bleeding. She decided a dressing was unnecessary, and she set the candle back down. “You’re going to be fine.”

“Thank you, sweet lady,” Sam said teasingly.

“Samuel, when I said we should start the rebellion in earnest, I didn’t mean you should start throwing rocks and other debris at the Redcoats,” Charlotte informed him.

Sam sighed and settled back in the chair he was seated in. “I didn’t start the riot. I’ll have you know I was wallowing away in my cup of ale in the Green Dragon. My cousin came and informed me of the riots, and I decided, “Well, why the hell not?” and I went out and joined them.”

“Who fired first?” Charlotte asked.

“Is that even a question, Char?” Sam retorted. “We didn’t have guns. Someone threw a rock, it actually hit the Redcoat, and their captain ordered them to fire.” He shrugged. “From there, you can assume what happened.”

Charlotte stared at him for a moment, and then shook her head. “We just asked for more taxes,” she said quietly, glancing away.

“Hey, if they tax us anymore, we’ll deal with it. John Hancock seems to think we’re playing a game.” Sam stood and tilted his head as he looked at her. “I say, “Let the game begin”.”

Charlotte gazed up at him for a moment, unable to look away. The fire in Sam’s eyes had returned from wherever it had disappeared over the last week, and she saw glad to see it was back where it belonged.

She started to speak, but a laugh from downstairs made her stop. “Charlie!” Paul called up the stairs. “Be a lamb, and make me some coffee, won’t you? It seems I have a long night ahead of me.”

Charlotte smiled to herself and met Sam’s gaze again. “Promise me you won’t get yourself killed,” she said.

Sam winked in response and drifted away down the stairs. Charlotte heard his exclamation of approval when he saw Paul’s drawing, whatever it was, and she chuckled before turning to make her husband his coffee. Strange, for some odd reason she felt giddy, despite the fact that five of her fellow Bostonians had just been shot dead a few blocks away from her home.

Maybe it was because she knew this was it. The gunshots on King Street had been the crack in the bell, calling Boston to rebellion.

Sam was right. Let the game begin.


	7. The Tea Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Charlotte's words from three years earlier give Sam an idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes. It's on time. Hurray.

“Mama?” Harriet Mills looked up at her daughter, her eyes betraying the steeled face she’d put on throughout the funeral. 

“I think I’m going to go to Pennsylvania, to stay with your aunt,” Mrs. Mills said quietly. 

“Of course,” Charlotte agreed. “I could travel with you, if you want me too.” 

Harriet Mills shook her head. “This is your home,” she said. “I know that you could run the fabric shop, and you can if you want. Your father has left us enough money that you don’t need too, though.” 

“Are you going to be all right?” Charlotte asked gently. 

Her mother shrugged. “Probably. He lived a lot longer than we thought he would.” 

“He did,” Charlotte replied. “He wasn’t going to leave you behind without some sort of financial support. He needed to make sure you were taken care of.” She reached down and touched her mother’s shoulder gently. “If you need anything, you send me a letter, all right?” 

“Thank you, Lottie,” Harriet Mills responded softly. “Eleanor will take care of me, though.” 

Charlotte gazed at her mother for a moment longer before taking a step backwards. “Take care of yourself, Mama,” she said softly. 

With that, she turned and left her home. Her old home. Paul was waiting outside for her, and she gave him a small smile when he tilted his head. 

“She’s not… she’s not okay,” she said quietly, meaning her mother. “She’s going to go to Pennsylvania, so at least she’s finally going to get out of Boston like I wanted her too.” 

Paul let out a breath and pulled her into his arms. “Are you all right?” he asked her. 

“Yes,” Charlotte answered earnestly. “He was sick. I hated seeing him like that.”

“It’s best if she goes,” Paul decided after a moment of silence. “The Redcoats aren’t easing up any time soon.” He allowed her to pull away, and they glanced towards where a British soldier was stationed down the street. The Redcoat’s head lifted, and he disappeared around the corner just as shouting started up somewhere nearby. 

Charlotte glanced up at Paul in concern. He returned the look before taking her hand in his and leading her after the Redcoat. They rounded the corner he had disappeared around, and Charlotte groaned when she saw what was happening. 

Sam was battling with three Redcoats all at once. She could see by his movements that he was drunk, and she started to move forward to get him, but Paul took her wrist in his hand and held her back. She watched, helpless, as Sam turned to punch one Redcoat, and another hit him in the stomach with the end of his musket. Sam collapsed to the ground with a cough, and the third Redcoat hit him, too. 

“Damn rebel,” one muttered just loud enough for Paul and Charlotte to hear. “Leave him there.” The Redcoats stalked off, and Paul let Charlotte go. She hurried to where Sam lay, curled up in a ball. She lowered herself to her knees beside him and brushed some of his hair out of his eyes. 

“What were you doing?” she asked him, sternly but softly. 

“Let’s just say they weren’t being very kind about someone,” Sam replied, struggling to sit up. She helped him, and he inhaled sharply as she brushed against his side. 

Slowly, she lifted up his shirt and let out a sigh when she saw the dark bruise already forming. “You need to stop this,” she said gently. “They aren’t going to leave, so we need to get used to it.” 

“To hell with that,” Sam answered, grunting as Dr. Warren and Paul came over and helped him to his feet. 

“His rib is bruised,” Charlotte said to Warren, who gave Sam a look. 

“What’s the matter with you?” 

“What’s the matter with  you ?” Sam retorted. 

“We cannot provoke them anymore,” Warren answered. “It will only get more of us killed. Is that what you want?” 

“What I want is for the Redcoats to figure out they’re not welcome here, and neither are Parliament’s taxes,” Sam said. He shrugged Paul’s hand from his arm and glanced around at all of them. “We need to plan something.”

“Sam -”

“No, he’s right,” Paul said, interrupting Dr. Warren. “We’re tired of it, and it’s time to do something.” He looked at Sam. “What are you thinking?” 

Sam met Charlotte’s eyes, and grinned. “You’re lovely wife gave me the idea a few years back,” he started. “We just didn’t have the means then.” 

“Sam?” Charlotte queried, lifting an eyebrow. 

Sam didn’t reply to her, and looked at Paul again. “Do you think we could borrow your shop this evening?” he asked him. 

“I think I could let you use it,” Paul answered. He raised his eyebrow. “What are you going to use it for?” 

“To prepare,” Sam replied simply. “We’re going to show the Redcoats just how much their tea is worth to us. Warren, if you would join me.” 

Warren looked at Charlotte with a shared exasperation before he followed Sam in the direction of the Green Dragon, and Paul stepped closer to Charlotte. “What does he mean?” he asked her. 

She watched Sam and Dr. Warren disappear around the corner, and then she let out a breath. “I think… I think you’re going to throw tea into the harbor,” she said softly. 

“And you gave him this idea?” Paul asked her. 

“I was joking when I said it, but yes, I suppose I planted the idea in his head.” She rolled her eyes upward. “Sometimes, that man doesn’t know when to draw the line.”

“How can we finish the line Britain started?” Paul asked her, to which Charlotte gave him a small glare. He smiled and gestured with his head. “Come on, we need to clean up at home a little bit before our friends come over.”

Charlotte started to follow him, but then she spotted John Hancock coming out of a tailor shop and heading for his carriage. She stopped and grabbed Paul’s hand. He looked back at her, and she smiled. “I’ll be after you in a while, all right?” 

“Fine,” Paul answered. He stepped closer and kissed her cheek before heading off. Charlotte watched him go before she turned and hurried towards where John was starting to climb into his carriage. 

“Mr. Hancock!” she called. He stopped and glanced towards her, and then slowly stepped off of the step leading into his carriage. 

“Mrs. Revere, it is lovely to see you,” he said, holding out his hand. She accepted it, and he placed a kiss on the back of her own. “Is there something I can help you with?” he asked as she pulled her hand back. 

“Yes, actually,” she replied. “Would you consider letting my mother use your carriage to get to Pennsylvania?” 

John Hancock drew his eyebrows together. “She’s leaving Boston?” 

Charlotte nodded. “I’m sure you’ve heard my father passed away a few days ago.” 

“Ah, yes,” John answered. “I’m so sorry for your loss.” 

“Thank you. My mother has decided to go to Pennsylvania to stay with my aunt, and she doesn’t want me to travel with her. I fear for her health, however, and I don’t know if she can even ride a horse. I figured that you might be willing to spare us your carriage.”

John thought about it for a moment. “I suppose I could let your mother borrow it,” he said with a nod. “For a small fee, of course.” 

Charlotte managed a grin that probably looked more like a grimace. “Of course.” 

“Just let me know when she plans to leave, and I will make sure it is available,” John said. He started to climb into his carriage again, and Charlotte watched him momentarily. 

“I don’t suppose you will be joining Sam and the others in their plan for this evening,” she said as he shut the door. 

“What do you mean?” John queried, looking at her through the window. 

“He plans on showing the Redcoats just how little regard we have for their taxes,” she explained. She smiled, more real this time. “I’m sure you can figure out what that means on your own. Good day, Mr. Hancock.” 

She turned and walked away, smirking to herself as she went. 

\--

That evening, Charlotte came down the stairs to find a few dozen men doing random acts of preparation around Paul’s workshop. Some were loading guns, others were painting their faces. Paul himself was sharpening a knife. 

Charlotte managed a grin for Dr. Warren, who returned it as she passed him. She joined Paul, and he glanced at her before holding up his knife to admire the edge. 

“You’re not going to go out of your way to kill anyone, are you?” she asked him, and Paul smirked. 

“No. I think, in fact, that we’re going to go out of our way to  not kill anyone,” he replied. Charlotte let out a slow breath, and Paul put an arm around her shoulders in a quick hug, kissing the top of her head. “We’ll be fine,” he promised, resting his chin there for a moment before he moved away to help another man with sharpening an axe. 

Charlotte stepped backwards and joined Sam where he was pouring gunpowder into his weapon. He looked up at her approach, and she eyed both of his guns. “Why do you need two?” she asked after a moment. 

“Double protection,” Sam answered easily, sliding the guns into the two holsters at his sides. He looked at her again and tilted his head. “You don’t want to join us?” 

“I don’t think Paul would like that very much,” she responded. 

Sam started to say something, but then the door to the shop opened, and John Hancock slid inside, glancing around at the activities. Sam’s eyes hardened immediately. “What is he doing here?” he muttered under his breath. 

As John started to come towards him, he turned away to mess with something on a table, and Charlotte scooted backwards into the shadows. 

John gazed at Sam for a moment before saying, “I strongly advise you not to do this.” 

“Your advice was respectfully noted,” Sam replied sarcastically, glancing at him. 

“Everything needs to calm down here, Mr. Adams. All of this violence and unrest - it is bad for business,” Hancock went on, ignoring Sam’s sarcasm. 

Sam turned to face him fully, giving Charlotte a look as he did so. She glanced away from the accusatory glare, and Sam looked back at Hancock. “Why are you here?” 

“Let’s just get the businesses up and running again,” Hancock said, evading the question. “Then we can get the cargo flowing and we can get back to making a profit.” 

Sam gazed at him for a moment. “It’s all money for you. That’s not what this is about,” he said at last, moving past John towards the center of the workshop. 

“Well what is it  you want?” John demanded, following him. Charlotte slid out of the shadows and watched as Sam picked up a mug. “Hmm?” Sam turned to face Hancock again and took a drink. John glared at him. “If you carry on with this, I am done.” 

Sam stared at him for a moment longer before rolling his eyes and tossing his mug into a basin of water. “Let’s go, boys,” he said to the others.

The men all picked up their weapons and followed their leader towards the doors and outside. Paul lingered long enough to give Charlotte a kiss before hurrying after them. 

“He’s going to get them all killed,” Hancock said to her as she went to the door to watch them disappear into the shadows. 

“I don’t think he will,” Charlotte responded after a moment. “If I did, I wouldn’t have let Paul go with them.” She turned to face him, holding the door with one hand. “Are you going to stay here, or are you leaving?” 

John stared at her a moment longer before he shook his head and walked towards the door. She held it open for him as he stepped out into the street and paused, glancing back over his shoulder at her. 

“Do you approve of this?” he asked. “This… rebellion?” 

Charlotte smiled at him. “You kidding? I’m the one who gave Sam the idea. Goodnight, Mr. Hancock.” She closed the door and leaned back against it, looking around the remnants of the boys’ preparation. She then let out a sigh and moved to clean up. 

She must have fallen asleep - how, she would never guess - but she woke up to a warm hand brushing against her cheek. Stirring, she blinked open her eyes and found Paul squatting before the chair she was curled up in, smiling.

“Hey,” he greeted when he saw her eyes open. 

“Hi,” Charlotte replied, moving to sit up. “What happened? Are you okay?” 

“Fine,” Paul answered. “Everything went the way we hoped it would.” 

“Good,” Charlotte said with a yawn. She gave him a sleepy grin. “I’m glad you’re back safe.” Her eyes began to close again, until she felt Paul’s arm slip under her. He scooped her up and carried her upstairs, Charlotte nuzzling contentedly into his shoulder. 

“I wish it weren’t so late,” he said softly as he reached their bedroom and lowered her onto the bed. 

“Mm, you wouldn’t get any, anyhow,” Charlotte murmured in response. 

Paul chuckled, and she listened to him undress. A few minutes later, he was crawling into bed beside her, arms wrapping around her. Charlotte snuggled closely to his chest and breathed outwards. 

“Augh! Charlie!” Paul exclaimed quietly. “Cold breath.” 

She snickered and rubbed her nose against his skin. “Don’t act like you don’t love it,” she teased. 

“I would be lying if I said I didn’t,” Paul admitted with a sigh. He kissed her forehead and pulled her closer. “Charlie?” 

“Hmm?” 

“What would you say if I were to suggest something a little crazy?” 

“Are you going to try to take advantage of my drowsiness, Mr. Revere?” Charlotte queried. Paul chuckled and let out a breath before he gazed into the darkness of their bedroom. 

“No,” he said after a moment. “I won’t.” There was a longer moment of silence. “Charlotte?” 

“What?” She was getting annoyed now, and Paul smiled to himself. 

“I have to go to New York.” 

Immediately, she stiffened in his arms and lifted her head from where it had been resting on his chest to look at him. “I’m sorry, what?” 

“I have to go to New York,” Paul repeated. “To tell them about the tea party.” 

“Why?” 

“So they know about it and maybe decide to do something like it,” Paul explained, his eyebrows coming together. “That sounded a lot more reasonable in my head.” 

“You’re not going,” Charlotte decided, putting her forehead back against his chest. 

“I have too.” 

“No you don’t. Send someone else.”

“Charlie -”

“Paul -”

They both stopped, and Charlotte looked up at him again. Of course, it was hard to see one another in the darkness of the bedroom, but Paul could swear there was laughter in her eyes. 

“If you go, you’re taking me with you,” she warned. 

“Well…” Paul hesitated. He  could take her, if he really had too. It may take longer to get to New York with her riding along, but he would be able to go. Sam thought that if New York knew that Boston had thrown tea into its harbor, then maybe New York could be persuaded to do the same. 

He let out a breath and smiled. “All right,” he said. “You can come.” 

Charlotte’s eyes widened. “Really?” 

“Yes,” Paul said. “Why the surprise?” 

“I just… I hadn’t thought you’d agree so easily.” Charlotte started to grin. “We’re going to New York!” 

“Yeah,” Paul agreed. “I guess we are.” 


	8. New York

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Paul and Charlotte visit New York, and Charlotte meets a part of Paul's family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After much break because writer's block, the chapter has been completed. Thank the Lord, because I haven't had this much struggle with writing in a while.   
> At least it's fairly long in length, to make up for all the lost time. 
> 
> All of the information about Paul's brother and his family is completely made up, by the way. Research isn't my strong suit.

Charlotte and Paul ended up traveling with Harriet Mills after all. They accompanied her (John Hancock's) carriage until they reached New York, and the carriage continued on without the couple, who took a different route to the city.  


New York City. Charlotte, who had never been out of Boston, let alone out of Massachusetts, had never thought she’d see a place as large, as full, or as dirty. 

New York was three times all of those things. 

The ride took two days of hard riding from the border. Two days! Charlotte’s rear would not be forgiving her for ages.

Paul chuckled as she managed to pull herself down off of her horse, groaning the whole way to the ground. She stumbled as her feet failed her, but Paul was there instantly, holding her up. 

“Thank you,” Charlotte said with a grateful sigh. She glanced around her, watching various people walk up one side of the street and down another, brushing shoulders as they scurried about, glancing at Paul and Charlotte before whispering to any companions they were walking with. 

“They’re wondering about us,” she commented to her husband. 

“We have someone we’re meeting,” Paul said, glancing around. “Hopefully we can share our news, and then get to the place we’re staying.” 

“Ooh, we’re staying somewhere?” Charlotte asked, perking up. “Thank goodness! I don’t think I could get back on my horse just now.” 

Paul gave her a good-natured shake of his head before he let her stand on her own so he could get their bags. Charlotte swayed a bit at the loss of his support and glanced around again, noticing a man in a finely tailored suit coming towards her. 

Silently, she pushed her elbow into Paul’s back. He grunted and glanced at her from over his shoulder, glaring. “What?” 

She gestured towards the approaching man with her chin, and Paul turned around fully, taking a step in front of her as the man reached them. 

“Mr. Revere?” Paul nodded, and the man broke out in a wide grin, offering his hand. “Elias Scott, member of the New York Committee of Safety. Rumors have been spreading up and down the coast that Boston finally took a stand.” 

Paul grinned and shook Elias’s hand. “We have. My friend Samuel Adams suggested I come to New York and share the news in person.” He slid his hand into a saddlebag and pulled out a sealed letter, passing it to Elias. “From Adams.” 

“Thank you for riding all this way to deliver it,” Elias said, accepting the letter and slipping it into his coat pocket. “I appreciate it, as do the other members of the committee.” He looked over at Charlotte, who was watching this exchange silently from over Paul’s shoulder. “Your wife, I assume?” 

Paul nodded and shuffled Charlotte forward by placing a hand on her back. “This is Charlotte.” 

“Nice to meet you,” Charlotte said, accepting Elias’s proffered hand. 

“I imagine you both are exhausted,” Elias said after he’d kissed her hand as the common courtesy greeting. “Do you have a place to stay?” 

“Yes,” Paul answered. “I know someone who lives here. We’ll be spending the night with them.” 

“Good.” Elias gave them both a bow. “Your delivery is very much appreciated once again, Mr. Revere. Stay safe.” With that, he disappeared down an alleyway, leaving Charlotte and Paul to exchange a glance. 

“That was… strange, to say the least,” Charlotte commented after a moment. 

“He seemed friendly enough,” Paul said with a shrug. He took his horse’s reins in one hand. “Come on,” he went on, gesturing towards her own horse with his head. “Let’s go.” 

Charlotte took the reins and slid her other hand through the crook of his elbow. Together, they began to walk down the street. New York citizens steered clear of them and their horses, and Charlotte was a bit uncomfortable with their avoidance. 

“Do they not… trust us?” she asked her husband. 

Paul looked around for a moment before lifting a shoulder. “I don’t know,” he said. “It could be. It’s no secret what’s happening in Boston; they might think we’ll bring the Redcoats here like a plague.” 

He was grinning, which showed it was meant to be a joke, but Charlotte furrowed her brow all the same and glanced across the street. A young man was leaning against a building, his red hair covered head bowed over a book that was resting on his knee, which was at waist level because he had his foot propped up against the wall. It was a strange position, and Charlotte wondered briefly why he wasn’t sitting down somewhere. 

She pointed him out to Paul, and he lifted an eyebrow. “Looks like a student,” he said after a moment. “Probably goes to King’s.” 

King’s College. Charlotte knew about King’s. The man who’d proposed to her before she meant Paul, Daniel, had attended King’s College. He’d come to Boston for some business (he was a lawyer), and had ended up staying for longer than he had planned because he’d fallen for her. 

Poor Daniel. She almost felt sorry she hadn’t reciprocated his feelings. 

She actually wasn’t sorry at all. 

“I wonder what he studies.” 

“I’m sure it’s something that suits him,” Paul replied. “My brother’s expecting us before lunch, Charlie.” 

“Sorry, sorry,” she said, turning away from the student and returning her attention to walking. Paul shifted so that he could take her hand in his, and he gave it a gentle squeeze. 

“I’m very happy you’re here,” he said softly to her. 

Charlotte leaned up and placed a kiss on his cheek. “I’m very happy you let me come,” she responded with a smile. 

“Just a few more blocks,” Paul told her. 

She nodded her consent, and they continued on their way, ignoring the looks some of the more stylish New Yorkers gave them as they passed. Charlotte had to wonder if they were Tories. They very well could have been. 

“Where are we leaving the horses?” she asked Paul. 

“Thomas said that he knows a spot to stash them,” he answered. 

Thomas. Right. That was Paul’s brother, the one they were going to be staying with. 

“He’s younger than you, right?” she queried. 

Paul nodded. “A couple years. Already has three kids.” 

_ God. _

She glanced up at her husband to see if he was thinking the same thing she was. From the expression on his face, however, she decided he wasn’t, and she sighed to herself. 

Did she want children? Sure. 

Did she want them right now? Not… exactly. 

Did Paul want children? No idea. 

If he did, did he want them right now? He hadn’t said anything about it. 

Still… maybe it was a conversation they needed to have. 

Not now, though. Now, they were in New York, and supposed to enjoy their break from Boston. 

“Charlie?” 

Uh-oh. She’d been staring. 

“What?” 

Paul was frowning at her. “Are you all right?” he asked. 

“Fine. Why?” 

“You had that “I”m thinking hard about something” face.” He was starting to smirk, now. “Something I should know about?” 

She managed a weak grin in response and chuckled dryly. “Maybe later.” 

“All right,” Paul agreed, content. “We’re here, anyhow.” 

They’d stopped in front of a multi-story building wedged between two others, just like most of the buildings in New York. Paul gestured for her to wait with the horses as he went to the front door and knocked on it. 

It opened a few moments later, and Paul laughed. “Look at you, getting taller every time I see you!” 

“Uncle Paul!” A child’s voice, male. Paul was then leaning down and hugging the boy, and Charlotte’s heart ached at the sight. 

“Father home, Johnny?” Paul asked the child, whom Charlotte could now see had dark hair and a dimple visible from where she stood. 

He nodded. “I’ll go get him!” The boy disappeared back into the house, and Paul looked over his shoulder and grinned. 

“John. Youngest of the three. They have a daughter, Anna, and an older boy, James.” 

“You couldn’t have told me this before?” Charlotte questioned, sighing to herself. 

Paul shrugged. “You’ll be fine. Wife is Margaret, or Peggy. She likes either.” 

The door opened again, and a taller version of Johnny stepped out onto the front step, beaming. “Big brother.” 

Paul pulled him into a hug, chuckling. “Good to see you, Tommy.” He turned and gestured to Charlotte, who lifted her hand. “My wife, Charlotte.” 

“So you’re the one who convinced my brother to settle down,” Thomas commented. “No easy feat. Nice to meet you, ma’am.” 

“Likewise,” Charlotte agreed, unable to keep from returning the smile. 

“You said you had a place for the horses in your letter?” Paul said, tilting his head. 

“Oh, yeah,” Thomas replied. He turned and called into the house for someone who’s name Charlotte didn’t catch, and an instant later, there was slave walking over to Charlotte and taking the horses’ reins. 

“Thank you,” she said to him. He merely nodded and led the horses away. She joined Paul before the door, and he slid an arm around her as she offered her hand to Thomas. He shook it and smiled again, which made Charlotte smile as well. His grin was contagious, apparently. 

“Well, come on in,” he said, stepping out of the way of the front door. Paul led Charlotte inside, and she shook her head. 

It was a fancy place indeed. There was a glass chandelier in the center of the main hall, and a long carpet running along the length. Higher class than something she and Paul would  _ ever _ have. She squeezed his arm at the sight of all the fancy things, silently scolding him for not telling her his brother and his family were  _ rich _ . 

Thomas walked past them. “Pegs said she wanted me to bring ya to her, so I should do that before she starts yelling. Come on.” He continued down the hall and disappeared into a room on the right side. Paul, unafraid, followed his younger brother, pulling Charlotte with him. 

“Peggy, my love, Paul and his wife have arrived,” Thomas announced. 

A petite brown-haired woman was seated at a table in the center of what appeared to be a kitchen, a cup of tea before her. She looked up and smiled, rising. 

“Brother-in-law,” she greeted, coming over to give Paul a hug. She then reached for Charlotte. “Welcome to New York, Charlotte. This is your first time, right?” Charlotte, speechless at how kind this woman was, could only nod, and Peggy smiled. “We’ll take care of you, I promise.” 

She then turned to Paul. “I had Abby make up the guest room for you, and you can get settled in before lunch?” 

“Sounds good to me.” 

“Perfect. Abigail?” Her soft voice summoned a young slave, who merely nodded once when she saw Paul and Charlotte. “Abby will show you to your room,” Peggy said.

Paul and Charlotte followed Abigail back through the hallway and up the stairs beside the front door. She led them down the second floor hallway and opened a door near the end. 

“This is your room,” she said quietly. 

“Thank you,” Charlotte said. 

Abigail nodded and disappeared, closing the door behind her. Paul dumped their saddlebags on the ground and then hurried over to the bed. He flopped down across it, and let out a sigh when there was no squeaks. 

“Perfect.” 

“What are you doing?” Charlotte asked as he wriggled around a bit. 

“Making sure we have privacy,” he explained, propping himself up on his elbows and grinning at her. “I aim to have a  _ good _ time while we are in New York.” 

Charlotte cocked an eyebrow and crossed her arms. “Is that so?” 

“Yeah,” Paul answered, chuckling. He relaxed back on the bed again, and Charlotte bit her lip, watching him as he gazed up at the ceiling. Without thinking about it, she strode across the room to the bed and laid down directly on top of him. 

Paul barely reacted to this, merely wrapped his arms around her and rolled so that she was beneath him, looking down at her. 

“God, you’re heavy,” she grunted, shifting a bit. Paul adjusted his weight so that there was less pressing down on her. 

“You want to do this now?” he queried, smirking. 

“How much time do we have?” 

He shrugged, and then climbed off her. She watched as he went to the bedroom door and locked it, before turning around and pulling off his coat. “I just bought us more, though,” he said. 

“Then come over here,” Charlotte purred, propping herself up on her elbows.

Paul’s grin grew and he did what she said, shedding his vest as he went. 

\--

About thirty minutes later, Paul was stroking his hand against her bare shoulder as Charlotte gazed down at him, smiling contentedly. 

“That was pretty good,” he said. 

“I think so,” she agreed. 

“We should do it again sometime.” 

“Paul!” She gave him a playful whack, and he chuckled. 

“What? We can, can’t we?” 

She merely shook her head and slid off the bed. “We need to get dressed and slightly presentable so we don’t look messy at lunch.” 

She bent down to pick up her shift, and could feel Paul’s gaze on her backside. She rolled her eyes and straightened up again, pulling the shift on. 

“Ah,” he mumbled. “Why’d you have to ruin the view?” 

“Dress, Paul,” she ordered, moving to pull on her petticoat. 

He let out groan, but did as she asked, only trying to distract her from getting dressed twice, and the second time she let him because  _ God _ . 

“All right, all right,” she said, giggling and pulling out of his arms. “We need to go.” 

Paul sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled on his boots. “I think you’re going to like Anna,” he said. 

“Why is that?” Charlotte queried, smiling to herself as she watched him fold the ends of his breeches. He glanced up. 

“She likes to asks questions. A lot of questions.” 

“Curious, huh?” 

He nodded. “I think she’ll want to know about the wedding most of all. She’s very… ready to get married herself. At least, she was when I saw her last. Maybe age has changed her.” 

Charlotte let out a laugh as he stood and pulled her against him again for a brief kiss that turn into one a lot longer than brief. It ended when there was a knock on the door. 

“Mr. and Mrs. Revere? The other Mrs. Revere says it’s time for lunch.” Abigail’s voice. 

“We’ll be right out!” Charlotte called, since Paul was busy lining her jaw and neck with kisses. She pushed him back with a short giggle. “I should never have let you convince me to do that before lunch,” she exclaimed. “Now you’ll be giving me bedroom eyes all throughout the meal.” 

“What are bedroom eyes?” Paul asked innocently. 

“You know what they are,” Charlotte muttered. “Come on, husband. I’m hungry.” 

Paul followed her out the door of their room and back down the stairs. A smaller version of Peggy was waiting for them, and she smiled when she saw them. 

“Uncle Paul,” she said. 

“Anna,” he answered, giving her a hug before turning to Charlotte. “This is Charlotte.” 

“It’s nice to meet you,” Anna answered, giving Charlotte a hug as well. “I suppose I could call you Aunt Charlotte.” 

Charlotte laughed. “I guess that’s true, yes.” 

“James is already in the dining room,” Anna said, beginning to walk in that direction. 

“How’s your brother doing?” Paul asked her. 

“Well,” she answered. “Of course, it’s difficult, but he’s making due.” 

“That’s good,” Paul said. 

Charlotte looked at him in confusion, and Anna paused, turning around. “Uncle Paul told you about James, didn’t he?” 

“No, I’m afraid he did not,” Charlotte replied, casting a glare towards her husband before returning her gaze to her niece. 

Anna sighed. “James is blind. In both eyes. Has been since birth. Mama and Papa almost didn’t have any more children because of it, but they did, and John and I are both fine.” She shrugged her shoulders and turned back around. “Just a fluke, I suppose.” 

Charlotte was left speechless once again, and she glanced up at Paul. He merely gave her a gentle squeeze around the waist and leaned down to speak in her ear: “I’ll explain why I didn’t tell you later.” 

Charlotte nodded her consent just before the three entered the dining room. The other four Reveres were seated at the table, and Thomas looked upwards, smiling good-naturedly. 

“Took you a while to come down.” 

“We were preoccupied,” Paul said to his brother, pulling out Charlotte’s chair for her before sitting down next to her. 

“All right, that’s enough,” Peggy said, her scolding lessened by the smile on her face. Bowls of stew were being set out by two slave girls. When they were done, they parted from the room. 

“Prayers?” John queried, looking at his mother. 

“Of course,” Peggy answered. “Jamesy, would you like to lead them?” 

Charlotte allowed herself to look at the oldest boy. His eyes were clear, though she noticed he didn’t blink as often as he should have. He was smiling, though, and he had the same dimple as Thomas and his younger brother. 

Hands were joined, heads were bowed, and James said the prayer, to which everyone responded “Amen”, and then the meal began. 

Indeed, questions were asked about the wedding, but by Peggy, and not Anna. 

“Paul didn’t tell us much in his letter,” she explained to Charlotte.

“There really isn’t much to tell,” Charlotte answered. “The ceremony and reception were both held in the biggest square in Boston. The vows were typical, the music played normal… we danced, ate some cake… nothing of note occurred.” 

That was a lie, but not even Paul knew about what Sam had said to her. Charlotte still couldn’t stop thinking about it, even four years after it had happened. She didn’t need to tell everyone at the table that, though, so she shrugged. 

“Just a wedding.” 

“How do you like living in the workshop?” Thomas asked, spooning some stew into his mouth. “I was sent away as a boy to live here in New York with my aunt because of my health.” 

“Your health?” Charlotte asked, tilting her head. 

“I have breathing trouble,” Thomas explained. “I couldn’t live in the workshop because of the smoke from the forge fire.” 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Charlotte said, blinking. She didn’t know how the air in New York was any different than that of Boston, and the workshop itself, but better safe than sorry, she supposed. 

“Aunt Charlotte?” She turned to James, who was looking in her direction. 

“Yes?” she said, careful to let him know she was listening, since he couldn’t see he had her attention. 

“Does Uncle Paul get hurt a lot while working?”

“More times a day than I can count,” Charlotte answered, looking over at Paul, who frowned. 

“I do not,” he declared. “Don’t listen to her, James. I never get hurt.” 

“Really?” Charlotte queried. “I recall you burning yourself right before we set out for New York.” 

“It was a  _ minor _ burn,” Paul said. “Hardly counts as an injury.” 

Charlotte shook her head and looked at John, who was watching this exchange with wide eyes. “He wasn’t thinking that way while Dr. Warren put salve on it,” she said. 

Everyone at the table laughed aside from Paul, who frowned at her. Charlotte merely smiled sweetly in response. 

“Do you wish you had a separate house to live in?” Anna asked. 

“Not at all,” Charlotte replied. “With the workshop on the lower floor, I know when he’s working, and when he’s not so I can go downstairs and scold him.” 

More laughter. Charlotte smiled to herself as she caught Paul’s eyes. He winked at her, no longer frowning. She was getting along just fine. 

After lunch, the family went in different directions. Thomas and Paul went to check on the horses, and Anna disappeared with her mother for piano practice. John stayed in the dining room with his brother. 

“Auntie,” he said, just as Charlotte was attempting to disappear without notice, “James wanted to ask something persnal.”

“Personal, Johnny,” James corrected. 

“Sorry.”

Charlotte turned to face her two nephews, wondering what was coming. “What is it?” she asked. 

James’s eyebrows had drawn together, and he was frowning. 

“It's kind of a strange question…”

“I'm sure I'll have a strange answer, then,” Charlotte said.

James smiled, his dimple showing through, and he let out a breath. “Why did you marry Uncle Paul?” 

Charlotte let out a “Huh” and leaned against the wall, crossing her arms. “That's not a strange question at all, though I do have a strange answer. I married your uncle because… well, because I love him.”

John stuck out his tongue in disgust. “Mama says that's why she married Papa, but we both know that's a lie, don't we, James?” he asked his older brother. 

“Johnny,” James warned. “We don't talk about that, remember?” 

John glanced guiltily at Charlotte and closed his mouth. James turned his eyes back to her, and she wondered if he could somehow see her, in his mind, maybe. 

“So, it wasn't set up, then? You got married because you wanted too?” 

Charlotte started to nod, then caught herself. “That's right.”

It was James’s turn to “Huh”. Charlotte had to admit she was curious. 

“Why do you ask?”

“Well…” He trailed off and fiddled with the top of the cane he had in his hands. “My parents married because Father’s aunt arranged it with Mother’s father. They only met once before the wedding, certainly not enough time to let them fall in love.” 

_ If only you knew, kid.  _

Charlotte herself had fallen in love with Paul the moment she saw him fully for the first time, when she wasn’t just flung in front of him on his horse as hers galloped away. Paul had told her she'd had him the moment she blinked her green eyes at him. It was possible, she supposed, to fall in love in one meeting. 

She didn't know if that's what James wanted to hear, however. She had a feeling there was something deeper to this, but she didn't know what it was, exactly. 

“I just wanted to know because… I think my parents are going to have to arrange a wedding for me, if they even let me get married,” James continued, almost as though her thoughts bidding him too had been heard. “I wondered if the girl who's supposed to marry me could fall in love, even if the marriage is arranged, and I can’t see her.”

_ Good Lord.  _

Charlotte took a moment to phrase her answer. “James, I'm sure that, if and when you do get married, your wife will love you very much.”

“Even with the way I am?” James asked. 

“Yes,” Charlotte replied. “You have nothing to worry about. I promise.”

He thought about it for a moment longer, passing a hand through John’s hair for a quiet moment before he nodded. “All right. Thank you, Aunt Charlotte.” 

“You're welcome,” she answered. 

“C’mon, Johnny,” James said, rising. “Help me to my room.” 

Charlotte moved out of the way for the boys, only to be enfolded into an embrace, which she leaned into happily. 

“That was quick.”

“It's only three blocks down,” Paul replied, meaning the stable. “Do you want to talk now?”

“Only if you do,” Charlotte said. 

“Come on, then.” He turned her around and took her hand, leading her towards the stairs. When they had reached their room, Paul closed the door and leaned against it, crossing his arms. 

Charlotte sat down on the edge of the bed and looked at him. “What is it?” she questioned. 

“I didn’t tell you about James because I didn’t want you to worry about our kids,” he explained quietly. “I thought that if you knew, you wouldn’t want to have children because of the possibility.” 

Charlotte let out a breath.  _ Of course _ . She could have guessed that, if she had known Paul did in fact want children. Even after four years of marriage, they had never had that conversation, probably because of the way things had been in Boston, and with the rebellion rising to full-force. It just… wasn’t on the forefront of either of their minds. 

Still…

Charlotte rose from the bed and walked over to where Paul was. She took his hands in hers and met his eyes. “Paul Revere, I would  _ never _ not want to have children with you because of something like that,” she said. “However… with the… circumstances being what they are… I don’t think children are the best option for us right now.” 

Paul nodded. “Which is why I haven’t brought up the idea at all,” he told her. 

Charlotte smiled. Great minds do think alike. 

“If it’s meant to happen right now, it will,” she started, “but personally, I don’t want children at the moment.” 

“Me either,” Paul agreed. He hesitated, and Charlotte cocked her head, waiting. “If it were to happen, though?” 

“Then we would have a baby,” Charlotte said, shrugging his shoulders. “And a revolution.” 

Paul chuckled, and took her chin in one hand, tilting her head so that he could kiss her. “One thing is probably easier to handle than the other,” he commented. 

“The baby is not it,” she concluded. 

Paul kissed her again in response, and when he pulled away, he let out a breath. “I sort of want to get back to Boston already,” he admitted. 

Charlotte wrapped her arms around him and rested her forehead on his chest. “You have no idea.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That student in the beginning? Anyone wanna guess who it was? The red hair should give away the answer, but maybe not.   
> Also, bedroom eyes? I didn't know what else to say, so... y'know.


	9. Boston VS Britain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Paul and Charlotte return from New York and realize that the Tea Party only made things in Boston worse.

“You said what to him?” Sam asked Charlotte, who grinned.

She was retelling the story of her interaction with John Hancock when she had gone to pay him for the use of his carriage after she and Paul had returned from New York. He had asked if her mother had made it to Pennsylvania all right, and she had said that she had.

“Oh, good,” John had said. “And… are you holding onto your parents’ shop or…?”

Charlotte had forced a smile. “Are you asking me if I would like to sell it, Mr. Hancock?”

“No, no,” he had said quickly.

Charlotte had then gone on to say, “Well, if I were too, I have an idea of what you could turn it into.”

Now, at the Green Dragon, she said, “I told him that he should consider turning it into a flower shop, since he likes to smell so sweet all the time.”

“Yes!” Sam exclaimed with a laugh. “How perfect.”

Charlotte shrugged and leaned back against Paul’s chest. “I only say what I see, or smell, rather,” she said.

Sam laughed again as Paul perked up. “I see a Dr. Warren,” he commented, nodding towards the door of the tavern. Sam rotated around in his seat as Warren came over, looking flustered.

“Gage shut the ports.”

Charlotte looked upwards in disdain. General Gage had arrived about a week prior. Governor Hutchinson had sent word to Britain about the tea fiasco, and General Gage had been sent to Boston, along with three ships full of Redcoat reinforcement. Gage seemed to think he going to change things in Boston. Most of the rebels did not agree.

Paul was one of them.

He picked up his mug. “Bastard,” he said before taking a drink.

Dr. Warren sat down across from them next to Sam. “Nothing in, nothing out,” he said. “A number of soldiers took over the Clark house on Hanover Street. They’re quartered there now.”

“Charlotte and I saw them do the same thing to a few homes on our square,” Paul added, setting down his mug. Charlotte reached forward and picked it up for herself, swallowing down the remainder of the alcohol within it. It had been a mess - people dragged from their houses and beat senseless on the street. Charlotte hadn’t known what to do about it, so she had simply watched and wished it wasn’t happening.

The bell hanging from the door to the tavern jingled, and Charlotte felt Paul stiffen behind her. She lifted her head and frowned when she saw the Redcoats standing near the door.

“Stay here,” Paul advised as Dr. Warren and Sam stood up to meet them. Charlotte nodded and watched as the three men approached the Redcoats, as did a few of the other bar goers.

“We are looking for Sam Adams,” the head Redcoat said. He looked like an officer of some kind, maybe a captain or a major. He grinned as Sam approached him. “Ah, Mr. Adams.” Sam merely stared at him, and the Redcoat glanced at his fellow soldiers. “You are the famous Samuel Adams, are you not?”

“Is there a problem?” Charlotte heard Paul ask, and the Redcoat shook his head.

“No problem at all.”

“Well, that is very good to know.” Kelly, who had been seated near the door, stood and approached the Redcoat. He gestured to the door with a knife, and Charlotte bit her lip to keep from chuckling. If Kelly had been using a knife to suggest she leave, she would have been gone at once. “You boys can go.”

The crowd thickened in the silence that followed, and Charlotte stood so she could see what was happening. The Redcoat continued to gaze at Sam. “General Gage understands your concerns in this delicate transition,” he began. “As a gesture of good faith, he asked that I cover your tab for this evening. Everyone’s tab, in fact.” He pulled out a coin purse and dumped a pile of shillings onto the counter. “I only ask for a moment of your time. In private,” he continued, handing Sam a mug one of his soldiers was holding.

Sam stared at him a moment longer before saying, “Suppose I can talk for a moment.” He walked past the Redcoats into a rear room, the major following him. The other soldiers lined up in front of the doorway, and Charlotte slid through the crowd to get to Paul. She glanced at the soldiers briefly before looking at him.

“What do you think he wants?” she asked softly.

“I don’t know,” Paul said, “but I don’t think Sam’s going to go for it, whatever _it_ is.”

The Redcoat wasn’t gone for very long, and when he emerged, the major was steaming. He ordered for his soldiers to follow him, and the Redcoats left the tavern. Sam came out of the rear room, still drinking his mug, and Paul glanced at him.

“What did he want?”

“He tried to buy me off," Sam told them.

“Course he did," Kelly responded, taking a drink. “Bloody British bastard.”

“What do we do?” Warren asked Sam, who took a drink of his own.

“We wait, and see what _they_ do,” he answered.

Charlotte looked at Paul, who returned the glance and shrugged. She turned her eyes to the floor and let out a breath. The Tea Party had done nothing but cause more problems.

Well, what had they expected?

\--

A week later, Charlotte was walking back towards the workshop from the fabric shop when she was suddenly grabbed by a Redcoat and pushed in the direction of Town Hall Square.

“Hey!” she exclaimed, fighting against his grip.

“Orders from General Gage,” he responded vacantly. “All citizens are to report to Town Hall Square.”

She huffed and shrugged him off. “I can walk fine on my own, thank you!”

The soldier turned to usher some other citizens along, and Charlotte brushed off her sleeve before heading towards the square with a large crowd of Bostonians. When she arrived, she saw that most of Boston was already there, and they had formed a giant circle around the center of the square.

Charlotte frowned and glanced around for someone who could explain what was happening. She stormed over to the closest Redcoat and demanded, “What is going on?”

He didn't answer, and she glared at him a moment longer before growling under her breath and stalking away. She was about to turn and leave the square when she heard a familiar voice call her name.

Turning, she saw Paul slipping through the gathered crowd to reach her, and Charlotte felt a sense of relief at seeing him.

“Charlie,” he said again when he reached her.

She stepped closer to him, glancing around at everyone. “What’s happening?”

“I don’t -” Paul was cut off by a voice beginning to speak, and the silversmith took Charlotte's hand to pull her after him.

They made it to the side of a building, and Charlotte saw Dr. Warren and John Adams standing nearby, gazing towards the center of the crowd. Charlotte followed their gazes and immediately winced.

A whipping post had been set up in the center of Town Hall Square, and a man had been attached to it. Nearby, a Redcoat stood with a flogging whip in hand. At the top of the courthouse steps was the Redcoat who had come into the Green Dragon before to speak with Sam.

She now had a fairly good idea of what was about to occur, and she slid backwards into Paul. One of his arms wrapped around her waist, and Charlotte watched as General Thomas Gage came out of the courthouse.

The major beside him said something, and nodded to someone standing across the circle. Charlotte followed the nod and spotted Sam leaning against the wall of a building, Kelly beside him.

“Let it be known: any man found in violation of His Majesty’s laws will be dealt with without mercy.” The major spoke again, drawing Charlotte's attention back to him. He stepped down to ground level and looked around at everyone who had been gathered. He then strolled over to the whipping post, and pointed to the man.

“This man was caught not hours ago, stealing, from one of His Majesty’s ships,” the major announced. Charlotte winced, knowing full well what was coming next. “His punishment will be swift and just.”

The major then nodded to the Redcoat holding the whip, and Charlotte bit her lip to keep from gasping like other women in the crowd as the whip struck the accused man across the back.

As the crack sounded a second time, and the man let out a cry of pain, Charlotte turned and hid her face in Paul’s shoulder.

“It's all right,” he soothed, holding her close.

Charlotte closed her eyes as she listened to the crack of the whip, the man’s shouts, and the crying and begging of Boston citizens to be let go. There was a lull in the cracks, and she dared to turn her head. The man was slouched backwards, held up by only the chains attaching his wrists to the post.

“Let it be over,” she whispered.

It was no use. The man was whipped six more times, and he cried out one final time, falling to his knees in a faint. Charlotte cringed and turned again, hiding her face once more against her husband’s shoulder.

“As you can see,” the major began, “recent events have forced our hand. However, if you comply, there will be no need for such unpleasantness.” His words were met with silence, and Charlotte turned her head long enough to see him nod to a few other soldiers. “Take him away.”

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” Paul said to her as the Bostonians began to follow the orders of the British soldiers, who were ushering them away from the scene.

“I should go find the men that took him away,” Warren said, coming over to them. “That man needs medical attention, and quickly.”

“Do you want some help?” Paul asked, and the doctor shook his head.

“I’ll be fine. You get your wife home.” He looked at Charlotte. “Are you feeling all right?”

“No,” Charlotte answered with a shake of her head. “The Redcoats are going to pay for this.”

“Yes, they will,” Paul agreed, glaring at a group as they marched by. “Come on, let’s go home.”

He led her out of the square and towards the one where home was. When they’d reached the shop, Paul opened the front door and shuffled Charlotte inside before peering outside a moment longer and joining her.

“I can’t stand this anymore!” she exclaimed, throwing her hands into the air. “I’m going to kill General Gage the next time I see him, I swear.”

“Relax,” Paul soothed, pulling her arms down and resting his hands on her shoulders. She gazed up at him, and he lifted his eyebrows. “I won’t have you thinking that way, all right? It’s not safe.”

“Then you kill him, I don’t care,” Charlotte replied sourly. “Someone has to do it, though.”

“You would do a terrible job in war,” Paul informed her with a smile. He then pulled her against him in a hug. “We’re going to sort this out. It’s just going to take a bit more tact and planning than simply marching to the governor's old home and killing everyone inside.”

“What are we to do, then?” Charlotte demanded.

“I don’t know,” Paul answered. There was a knock on the door, and he let Charlotte go so he could answer it. Sam stormed in as soon as the door opened, Kelly behind him.

“This has gone too far!” Sam declared. “That will not happen to anyone else in Boston.” He paced around in a small circle, glaring at the floor. “We need more guns.”

“How do you suppose we hide these guns once we have them, Sam?” Charlotte asked him, crossing her arms. “I agree with you wholeheartedly, but this… we can’t fight the Redcoats alone. We need help from the other colonies.”

“Help?” Sam snorted. “Help. Did any help come when Paul sent out those drawings of his carving? Did any help come when Parliament sent 3,000 British soldiers to Boston?” He shook his head. “We won’t be getting any help from them, Char.”

Before Charlotte could come back with some kind of resolution, Paul spoke up: “I know someone in Lexington who might be able to get us something.”

“Good,” Sam said with a nod. “We may have been fighting the Redcoats for several years already, but it will be nothing compared to this.” He met their gazes one by one. “It’s time to prepare for a war.”

 _Great_ , Charlotte thought. Boston going to war against Britain. They were most definitely going to win, because they had been doing great so far. 

\--

A few days later, Charlotte was wiping down the table in their kitchen when she heard movement downstairs in the workshop as someone pushed open the door. She could hear her husband and Sam, who was hiding out in the workshop along with the guns the rebels had scavenged together. 

Charlotte left her rag where it was and went downstairs to meet them, only to stop dead on the bottom stair as she took in a beaten Kelly from where he sat in a chair. 

“Oh my God,” she managed, going over to where he was and gently lifting his head with a finger under his chin. She studied his cuts and bleeding mouth and nose for a moment before she looked at Paul. “What the hell happened to him?” she demanded. 

“The Redcoats came to the Dragon looking for Sam,” Paul explained. 

She shook her head and stepped backwards from Kelly, turning towards the door. “I’ll go get Dr. Warren.” 

“He’s not home,” Paul said, bringing her to a halt. She looked over her shoulder at him. “I took Kelly there first. The house is empty.” 

“Dammit,” Charlotte muttered. “I’ll go get a rag, then.” She gave Kelly another sad glance and then went upstairs into the kitchen. Sam followed, and she handed him a bowl that she filled with water from a pitcher and placed a clean rag over the edge. 

“Where’s Dr. Warren?” she asked him. 

“I wish I knew,” Sam answered, leading the way back down the stairs. Paul was sitting on a chair in front of Kelly, talking to him. Kelly’s answers were mumbled, and Charlotte sighed to herself as she took the bowl from Sam and set it down on a work table, wetting the rag. 

“Lucky Paul walked in when ‘e ‘id,” the Irishman said to her as she started to wipe the blood off his face. “Redcoats ‘eft me ‘or ‘ead.” 

“Place was cleared out when I walked in,” Paul continued. “Seemed like everyone was worried the Redcoats would be coming back, and Isaac didn’t want to leave Kelly alone to find Warren.” 

Charlotte shook her head and pressed the other end of the rag against a cut on Kelly’s forehead. “I don’t blame him.” She gave Kelly a grin. “You  _ look  _ dead.” 

“‘anks.”

“I want to know where Warren is,” Sam muttered under his breath. 

“I’m sure he’s missing for a reason,” Charlotte said gently. “Paul, will you get me another rag?” 

He went to do so as Sam started to pace before the front door, his arms crossed. “He’s going to be hearing from me if Kelly’s teeth fall out,” he said at last. 

“I think fixing that is more suitable for Paul,” Charlotte said, taking the rag that her husband brought to her. She leaned over and wet this one as well. “I wish I had a bandage for this cut,” she sighed, dabbing at the one on Kelly’s forehead again, as it had started to bleed once more. “It might need stitches.” 

“That’s it,” Paul decided. “I’m going to go find Warren. Stay here.” 

He moved towards the front door, and was about to open it when there was a knock. Sam shouldered Paul out of the way and opened it, letting out a huff when his thought was confirmed. 

“Where were you?” he demanded of Dr. Warren as he entered the workshop. 

“Amos said you needed me,” Warren said, ignoring Sam’s outburst. He caught sight of Kelly and came over at once, setting his bag down on the worktable next to the bowl of water. “What happened?” 

“What do you think?” Paul asked, crossing his arms. “Redcoats.” 

“You didn’t answer  _ my _ question,” Sam told him, brushing past Charlotte to stand next to Warren as he started to clean out Kelly’s cuts with alcohol. “Where  _ were _ you?” 

“Ooo ‘ares?” Kelly asked. “‘e’s ‘ere ‘ow. ‘et ‘im ‘ork o’ ‘ah ‘aph.” 

Sam continued to glare at Warren even after Charlotte pulled him backwards. “Sam,” she said, “let him work.” 

There was a heavy silence as Warren patched up Kelly’s injuries. After a while, he let out a breath and stepped back, wiping his hands. “You’ll be sore for a few days,” he said, “but you’re lucky you didn’t need stitches.” 

“‘ouf ‘urts,” Kelly mumbled, touching his swollen lips with one hand. 

“Looks like it,” Warren said, starting to smile. “What did you say to them?” 

“No’in’,” Kelly answered. “‘ey jus’ barged in like ’ey owned the place.” He glanced at Sam, who had cooled off a bit. “‘ey have no idea where you are.” 

“Good,” Sam said, glancing over at Charlotte. “I don’t want anything to happen to Paul and Charlotte for hiding me.” 

“They won’t find you,” Paul said. “We’re moving the guns as soon as I get out to Concord to talk to someone about using his barn.” 

“We can’t really do that until we have more support,” Sam replied. “I think we need to have a friendly gathering.” 

“Here?” Charlotte asked, frowning. 

“Well known and comfortable,” Sam said with a nod. “If we can convince others to join over supper…” 

“Won’t we draw unwanted attention from the Redcoats?” Charlotte looked at her husband. “They could take the workshop…” 

“They wouldn’t do that,” Paul said. 

“We wouldn’t give them the chance,” Sam agreed. 

“Sam.” He looked over at Dr. Warren. “Have you spoken to your cousin about this?” 

Sam frowned almost immediately. “No. Why?” 

“He came to my home asking about you,” Warren explained. 

“Came over to th’ Dragon, too,” Kelly added. He rubbed at his jaw. “I wouldn’t say he was worried, but he definitely didn’t look happy that you’re missin’.” 

“If he wants to talk to me, he can come find me,” Sam mumbled. 

“He’s clearly been trying,” Charlotte commented. 

Sam didn’t respond, and Paul glanced around at the other three. “We’ll spread the news about our little gathering,” he said after a moment, shrugging. “Those who come may join the cause.” 

“Are you saying I have to cook for men who might not even decide to help us?” Charlotte demanded, crossing her arms. “I don’t know how I feel about that.” 

“Maybe your cooking will be the thing that persuades them,” Paul suggested with a grin. 

Charlotte merely glared at him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll have you know that the end of the chapter is on page 85 in the Google Doc this story is written in. Page 85 of 175, with no end in sight.  
> I think there may be a problem.


	10. Dinner (And a Show...?)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which... sex doesn't happen?  
> Yeah, that's appropriate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is sort of a filler chapter because I sort of... forgot about the dinner scene, and I pulled this out of my butt right quick so that I wouldn't have to feel like I'd skipped it, which I would have, if I hadn't remembered it existed...  
> Sorry, just rambling. Enjoy!

A week or so later, just like Paul had planned, a large group of men were gathered in the workshop, and they were eating. It seemed as though, now that they knew it wasn’t a lost cause, they were more willing to help Paul and the others with whatever it was they wanted to do. 

Charlotte was continuously helping the visitors refill their bowls of stew, though many of them urged her to eat with her husband. One was a young man she had come to enjoy by the name of Amos, who was extremely insistent on the matter. 

“We know how to get our own stew, Mrs. Revere,” Amos said as she began to pour some into his bowl. He took the ladle from her and nodded to where Paul was seated beside Sam at the worktable they had cleared off to use. “Go eat with Paul.” 

Charlotte smiled at him. “You sure you’re not just trying to get me away so you can take a  _ lot _ of stew?” she queried. 

Amos merely winked and ushered her towards Paul. Charlotte went with a laugh, and Paul looked up at her approach, a big grin spreading across his face. 

“There she is!” he said, holding out his hand and pushing his chair away from the table so that he could pull her onto his lap. “Look at my wife, gentlemen. Isn’t she beautiful?” 

Charlotte smiled sheepishly and accepted the roll he offered her as the others called their agreements to Paul’s statement. Sam was the only one who stayed quiet, and he took a drink from his mug to hide it. 

“Amos seems adamant that I eat with you,” Charlotte commented to Paul. 

“Well, he’s right,” her husband decided. “You can’t just wait in the corner by the pot to feed  _ us _ .” Charlotte shook her head, and Paul took the roll from her, opened it, dunked it in his stew. He then offered it up to her. Charlotte leaned forward and took a bit of it, stew dribbling down her chin, and she giggled as Paul wiped it away with the other side of the roll before plopping it into his mouth. 

“That was disgusting,” she informed him, and Paul shrugged, a happy grin on his face. 

The conversations around them stopped as the door to the workshop opened, and in walked a solemn John Hancock. Twenty four or so pairs of eyes stared at him at his entrance, and he let out a breath.

“Gentlemen.” 

His eyes shifted to Sam, and he said, “Mr. Adams.” Sam went on eating as though he wasn’t there. Charlotte nudged him with her elbow; Sam glanced upwards, and John Hancock straightened his shoulders. “I’m in,” he said clearly. “Whatever you want, whatever you need… I am with you.” 

Charlotte watched as Sam lifted an eyebrow. “And why should we trust you?” he queried after a moment. “How do we know you’re not working for Gage now?”

John Hancock visibly stiffened. “I resent that,” he said, tone dark. 

“Why the sudden change of heart?” Sam asked him.

“He took my house.”

Charlotte let out a breath as the other men started to chuckle. She gave Paul a warning look when she saw his smirk, and he lost it immediately. 

Sam was studying his ale, suddenly very interested in the dark liquid. “Of course he did,” he said softly. He then set his cup down. “Look at you; still only out for yourself. You’re only here now because you’ve been booted out of your little fantasy world. You are not one of us, so why don’t you get out?” 

Charlotte’s eyes went wide as John Hancock took a small step backwards, baffled. What was Sam thinking? Hancock was  _ rich _ . Surely they needed his money, even if they didn’t want his company. 

“Get out,” Sam repeated, leaning back in his chair.

Hancock gazed at him a moment longer, and then turned and began to walk away. He was almost to the door when John Adams, who was seated on the other side of Sam, said, “Wait. I have a plan. We need him.”

John Adams had found his cousin the day before, and apparently, Gage had taken a step too far, because John was on the rebels’ side, when before he had been very neutral. A lot of strange things were happening. 

John Hancock stopped leaving and looked back as Sam glanced at his cousin.

“For what?” 

“His money,” John Adams answered.

Charlotte looked at John Hancock who shrugged in a “I expected as much” kind of way. She had to smile to herself as Amos approached him and offered Hancock a bowl of stew. Hancock looked at him in surprise, but accepted it with a nod of thanks. 

Amos nodded back and glanced towards where Charlotte was still seated on Paul’s lap. She winked at him, and Amos grinned back before he went and took his seat again. 

Later that evening, after the men had cleared out with “Thank you’s!” to Charlotte and Paul both, and the table had been cleared and put back in place, Charlotte was practically carried up the stairs and tossed onto their bed with so much fervor that she had to laugh. 

“What’s your hurry?” she asked Paul, who was struggling to get his vest off. 

“You have no idea what was going through my head while you were hitting Hancock with one-liner after one-liner,” her husband said, his voice a low growl full of desire. “I wanted to leave the table and take you upstairs when you told him he looked pretty for someone who had just lost his house.” 

“That wasn’t even on purpose,” Charlotte admitted. “I meant to say “pretty calm”.” 

“I don’t care,” Paul said, finally managing to get his vest undone. He tossed it aside, along with his shirt, and crawled over the bed to get to her. “It was funny, and very,  _ very _ attractive.” 

Charlotte chuckled as he started to pull at the front of her dress, and succeeded in ripping it open rather than simply undoing the ties on the front. “Damn you,” she said languidly. “This is one of my favorites.” 

“It’s one of mine, too,” Paul agreed, eyeing her chest. Her breasts were rising and falling just below her corset, and only partially concealed after their journey upstairs had loosened it a bit. Paul loosened it the rest of the way, and it fell open. 

“God,” he said after a moment, lifting his eyes to meet hers. “I love you so much.” 

“Why do I feel like you’re doing this because you’re going off to war?” Charlotte asked as she sat up and shrugged her way out of the top of her ripped dress. 

Paul tilted his head and rotated her around so he could undo the strings on her skirt and petticoats. “I am, in a way,” he replied. “We’re not fighting yet, but we will be, soon. I’m not going to be home every night, Charlie.” 

Charlotte whipped her head around at once and fixed him with a look. Paul furrowed his brows at the fire in her eyes as she whispered, “Don’t you dare leave me here in Boston by myself.” 

“I wouldn’t unless I needed too,” he said softly. “Charlie, this is for all the colonies, not just Boston. I have to help the others.” 

“What about me?” she asked him. “ _ I  _ need you.” 

“I know,” Paul answered. He used a hand to cup her jaw, running a thumb across her cheek. “I’ll come back. I just won’t be here all the time.” 

Charlotte searched his face. “Are any of you going to be here?” 

“I don’t know,” Paul replied. 

“Take me with you when you go,” Charlotte begged softly. 

Paul gave her a small smile. “You know I can’t do that. If something were to happen to you, I would never forgive myself.” 

“You don’t think something will happen to me here?” 

“We’ll be breaking the law,” Paul said. “You’re more likely to be safe here, away from us. Please, Charlotte, let me do this.” 

Charlotte studied him for another moment before she let out a breath and nodded once, moving away from him to retrieve a sleeping gown. Paul watched her do this with a frown, but he didn’t try to stop her as she dressed for bed. 

He joined her after a moment, pulling a night shirt over his head as she slipped under the blanket on their bed. When he climbed in beside her, he didn’t try to bring her against him, like he usually did before they fell asleep. Instead, he leaned over and blew out the candle on the table beside his side of the bed and then rolled onto his back, looking up at the dark ceiling. 

“Charlotte?” 

“Mm?” 

“Are you angry with me?” 

“No,” Charlotte said after a moment of silence. “Go to sleep, Paul.” 

He listened for another ten minutes as Charlotte’s breathing settled into what he’d come to know as her sleeping pattern, and then he let out a breath and rolled onto his side, facing away from her. She had a right to be frustrated with him, but he was doing the safest thing by leaving her in Boston. She would realize that soon enough. 

After he struggled to fall asleep for ten more minutes, Paul sat up and rubbed a hand across his face before glancing over to where Charlotte lay. The moonlight filtering in from the window made her hair glow, and there was an angelic look to her features. 

Paul’s heart ached at the thought of leaving her alone for even a day, let alone for weeks, but he didn’t have a choice. None of them had a choice anymore. 

Quietly, he slid off the bed and picked up her wedding ring from where it was lying on the side table. He’d promised he would tighten it for her, since it kept falling off of her finger. He might as well do that now, since sleep was evading him. 

He silently got dressed again and glanced once more towards his sleeping wife before exiting the bedroom, shutting the door softly behind him. 

As soon as it closed, Charlotte opened her eyes and sat up, watching the door, waiting for it to open again. When it didn’t, she lowered her gaze and laid back down, a tear sliding down her cheek and into her pillow. She turned and hid her face in it and cried for several minutes, wishing with all her heart that Paul would come back with kisses and embraces and promises that he would never leave her. 

He didn’t, and Charlotte fell asleep alone in their bed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So uh... yeah. There's that. AKA me, avoiding writing any and all the smut. Because I can't do it.  
> Poor Charlotte. Poor Paul. Poor Boston.  
> Everything is going terribly!


	11. Time Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Charlotte and Paul fight quite a bit, and make up quite a bit, because marriage.

Over the weeks that followed, Charlotte saw very little of any of the men, her husband included. It was rare when he told her personally where he had gone, and little times did he even leave her a note or  _ something  _ to tell her. 

Charlotte had expected as much. When Paul did come home, it was only for a few hours at a time, and he never stayed for the night. It was usually only to talk with Dr. Warren about something, and then he was off again, sparing only a few moments with Charlotte, which left her burning in anger and something else as well. 

At least he wasn’t wanted like Sam Adams and John Hancock, whom had disappeared entirely almost two months prior. General Gage had issued a warrant for both of their arrests, and Charlotte wondered whether or not they knew they were in danger of being hanged if they returned to Boston.

Paul’s absence started to take it toll, and Charlotte spent a lot of time with Dr. Warren, the only close friend she had who remained in Boston. At least, she spent  _ some _ time with Dr. Warren; he seemed to have taken an interest in spending time with General Gage’s wife, Margaret. 

“Is that safe?” Charlotte asked him one day, when she’d arrived at his home as Mrs. Gage was leaving. 

Warren glanced at her briefly. “We’re not doing anything,” he answered evasively. 

“No?” He shook his head, and Charlotte rested her elbows on his dining room table, looking at him. “Joseph, I haven’t had illicit relations with my husband in almost two months,” she said shortly. “I know what a woman looks like when her needs have been fulfilled. Mrs. Gage looked  _ very _ fulfilled.” 

“Charlotte.” She lifted an eyebrow, and Warren met her gaze evenly. “I understand you miss Paul, but that does not give you a right to poke your nose in my personal affairs.” 

“Affair?” Warren let out a breath, and Charlotte smiled to herself. “Do you know what the outcome of Sam’s visit to Philadelphia was?”

That was the last thing she had heard about Sam. He and both Johns had gone to Pennsylvania to meet with a group of representatives from all the colonies to discuss the Redcoats and the colonies’ connection to Britain.  

“Apparently, he was right,” Dr. Warren replied. “The other colonies don’t want to start a war. They sent a letter to King George, a list of grievances with how General Gage is running Boston. George Washington from Virginia, however, suggested that we should form an army.” 

“And that’s what my husband is off doing?” Charlotte clarified. 

“Yes ma’am,” Warren responded with a nod. 

She sighed and sank into a chair. “Do you know where he is, at least?” 

“They’ve set up a munition store at the farm Paul mentioned before,” Warren said, “the one owned by James Barrett. Paul and his friend William Dawes have been taking men there on a hidden route.”

“And you didn’t deem it necessary to tell me this?” Charlotte queried with a frown. 

“Paul asked me not too,” Warren answered softly. 

“Of course,” Charlotte sighed. She buried her head in her arms and let out a long breath. “I miss him.” 

Warren came around the table and rested a hand on her shoulder. “I’ll do my best to convince him to come to you the next time I see him, all right?” 

Charlotte raised her head and gave Warren a small smile of gratitude. “Thank you, Joseph.” 

Apparently, she didn’t have long to wait. Her sleep that night was disturbed by a loud banging from the workshop on the floor below her. She was startled awake as men’s voices drifted up the stairs to her, as did agonized groans. 

Quickly, she stood and pulled on a robe before scurrying down the stairs to find Paul and a few rebels surrounding one of his work tables. A man was lying on top of it, moaning. Charlotte hurried over to where they were and pushed through two men, sucking in a sharp breath when she saw the gunshot wound in the man’s side. 

She managed to pull her eyes away from it and look at her husband, who was standing on the opposite side of the table. 

“This is how you come home to me?” she asked, managing a joking tone. “Bloody and with a man who has a bullet hole in his side?”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Paul asked her, opening a bottle of whiskey and pouring some into the man’s mouth. A few moments later, Dr. Warren appeared, holding his bag, Amos behind him. Warren came over to the table at once, and the rebels dispersed, leaving only Charlotte, Paul and Dr. Warren with the wounded man. 

“What’s your name?” Warren asked him.

“Peter Salem.”

“Are you a freed man?”

“Yessir, just like you,” Peter replied haltingly.

Warren began to sew up the wound in Salem’s side. Charlotte had to turn away after a moment. “Try to hold still,” the doctor soothed as Salem let out a moan. 

“Redcoats thought he was stealing,” Paul said to Warren.

“I wasn’t,” Peter said as he winced again. “I was just loading barrels into the silo like they told me too. I would’ve died in the street if it wasn’t for Mr. Revere.”

“British silo over by Concord,” Paul explained. “Place was crawling with Redcoats.”

“How come?” Dr. Warren asked.

“Tell him what was in the barrels,” Paul suggested.

“Gunpowder,” Peter Salem said.

Charlotte glanced at her husband, and found him grinning at his friend. “Boom,” he concluded, before giving Salem a pat on the shoulder and walking around the table to join Charlotte. He started to reach for her, but she held up her hand. 

“You are covered in blood.” 

“It’s not mine,” he offered, but she shook her head, and he sighed, disappearing upstairs to change. Dr. Warren finished up his job quickly and helped Salem sit up.

“Think you can walk?” 

“Yes sir,” Salem answered. “Thank you for the patch up.” 

“It’s what I do,” Warren said. He looked at Charlotte. “I am very sorry if they woke you.” 

“It’s all right,” she answered quietly. “I’m glad you were able to help him.” 

Dr. Warren nodded once and helped Peter Salem stand. Together, the two men walked out of the workshop, and Charlotte closed the door behind them. She then leaned back against it and watched as Paul came down the stairs, freshly dressed. 

He glanced around. “Where’d they go?” 

“Dr. Warren took Mr. Salem back to his home,” Charlotte answered. 

“Ah,” Paul said. He grinned at her. “Well, I best get going again. More stuff to do.” He came closer and tried to kiss her, but Charlotte turned her head away from him. It took all her strength to do, but she managed it, somehow.

Paul frowned. “What’s the matter?” 

“When are you coming home?” she asked him stiffly. 

Paul gazed at her, his brow furrowed. “You know that we’re busy, Charlie.” 

“Don’t call me that, not right now,” she muttered. “You are never here anymore. I hadn’t seen you in a week, almost two, and then you show up in the middle of the night with a wounded man and some talk about a British silo holding barrels of gunpowder? What are you doing out there?”

“Preparing for a war,” Paul answered. “You knew that already.” 

“I have had to depend on Dr. Warren to tell me whether or not you’re still alive.” Charlotte glared at him. “When is he going to come here and tell me I’m a widow, hmm?” 

Paul let out a breath. He was struggling to keep his own anger in check - he knew Charlotte had every right to be annoyed with him, but this was taking it to a very high level. 

“I would be lying if I said we weren’t in danger,” he agreed, “but you have to understand it’s this, or oppression from Britain for another five hundred years.” 

“But do they need you all the time?” 

“I’m helping bring men to training,” Paul explained. “I can’t just up and leave without saying something. And now that we know about this silo -” 

Charlotte cut him off by wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing her lips to his. Paul blinked in surprise as she pulled back and gazed up at him. “You can’t stay here for one night?” she whispered. 

Paul started to reply, but as soon as Charlotte saw the look in his eyes, she kissed him again, harder this time. When she pulled away, Paul let out a breath. “You know I can’t say no to this,” he managed. 

“So don’t,” Charlotte responded, rising up to rest her forehead against his. “Stay with me,” she breathed against his lips. “Please.” 

As an answer, Paul wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her tightly against him, deepening their kisses even further. Charlotte tangled her fingers into his hair as he lifted her from the floor and carried her towards the stairs. 

“One night,” he said. 

“Then this better be the best we’ve ever had,” Charlotte answered between kisses.

When she awoke the next morning, Paul was gone, again, and a letter with her name scribbled on it in all to familiar writing was waiting for her. 

\--

Two weeks went by. Charlotte spent most of her time at the fabric shop. People were still buying things from her, and she decided to keep it open for as long as she had fabric to sell. She chose to sleep there on occasion, rather than go back to the empty workshop. It filled her with nostalgia, which was better than the vacant feeling she felt in her own home. 

Doctor Warren told her of the successful raid on the British silo, to which Charlotte responded with a despondent, “Hurray.” 

“He knows he made a mistake, Charlotte,” Warren told her in Paul’s defense. 

“That doesn’t take back the fact that he did it,” she said softly. She wasn’t even angry anymore. She was just hurting. She wanted her husband back with her, where he belonged. 

She even missed Sam a bit, actually, as ridiculous as that sounded. Any form of affection would have been better than none at all. 

“Charlotte.” She glanced up from the empty cup of tea she was staring blankly into, and Warren gave her a sympathetic look. “I think you should go home.” 

“Why? He’s not there waiting for me,” she answered. 

“I know, but… you should be there,” he said gently. “I think it’ll be good for you.” 

“To go home to an empty house?” Charlotte sniffed. “Sure.” 

All the same, she did as he suggested, and shuffled out of Warren’s own home and towards the workshop. As she walked, she found that she was missing Paul so much that she could feel it in her chest. Perhaps that night together had been the wrong decision after all; she should have just waited until she could have him back for good. 

She made it too the door and started to fumble with her key when she heard a voice that sent an ache through her whole body. 

"Charlie." 

Charlotte looked over her shoulder and closed her eyes when she saw Paul standing behind her. "You're all right,” she said softly.

"Of course I am," he responded. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Charlotte turned completely and hurried into his arms, putting hers around his neck. "You've been gone for two weeks," she whispered. 

"I'm here now," Paul said. He couldn’t believe that he was holding her again. The two weeks had been very hard for him, too. "I shouldn’t have just left a letter. I’m so sorry.” 

Charlotte was pressing herself against him in the way that left no gaps between them. Paul still tried to pull her closer, and Charlotte rested her head on his shoulder. 

"I will not leave you here again with little to no word about my whereabouts, I promise," Paul said softly. 

Charlotte's head lifted and she kissed him. Paul kissed her back, placing one hand on the back of her neck. He used the other to open the door of the shop, and he led Charlotte inside, still keeping her lips against his. He used a foot to shut the door and managed to get his arms under Charlotte and lift her up. 

She giggled against his lips as he began to carry her upstairs. 

"Really?”

Paul pulled back long enough to say, "Well, I just thought -"

Charlotte reached up and pulled his lips back to hers with her hand. "Yes," she said breathlessly between kisses. "Come on." 

Paul carried her to their small bedroom and laid her down on the bed. He started to come after her, but Charlotte shook her head. "Undress first.”

Paul grinned and shrugged out of his jacket. He began to undo the buttons on his vest. Charlotte crawled across the bed and started to to help him, and she pushed his vest off before pulling his shirt over his head. 

She rested her hand on his chest briefly before trailing her fingers across it. “It won’t be as good as last time,” she mused after a moment. 

“Maybe it will be, if we try hard enough,” Paul replied with a smirk.

She put her hand behind his neck and pulled him towards her. 

It was beautiful, easy, just like every time before. They fit together perfectly, and Charlotte enjoyed every last moment of it, right up until Paul finished her with his skilled tongue and lowered her left leg, which had been over his shoulder, back to the bed. He scooted forward a bit and pressed his lips along her belly before resting his head there. Charlotte toyed with a few strands of his hair, gazing up at the ceiling with a content grin. 

He was so selfless. 

"Wish we could do that all the time," Paul murmured after a moment of silence. 

"We could,” Charlotte replied. “You’re just always missing.” 

Paul moved to lay beside her fully, wrapping his arms around her. Charlotte turned so that her back was against his chest and let out a happy murmur. 

Paul pressed his lips against her shoulder as she slid her hand into his and kissed it. 

“I’m not letting you leave again,” she started. 

“Why not?” Paul asked, kissing her shoulder again. “There’s a war to be fought.” 

“I know that,” Charlotte replied, rolling over onto her back so that she could look at him, resting the back of her hand on his cheek. “But I can’t be away from you anymore. We’re married, Paul, and yet I barely feel like your wife. Don’t you think we should be together?” 

“Of course I do,” Paul said quickly, caressing her cheek with the hand of the arm she was lying on. “I can’t stay here in Boston, though. Not all the time. The men need me.” 

“Then take me with you,” Charlotte said, tugging on a strand of his hair.

“That’s too dangerous.” 

“Too dangerous? Isn’t it more dangerous when I’m here without you?” Paul didn’t respond, and Charlotte kissed his lips. When she pulled away, she met his gaze. “I love you.”

He let out a breath and allowed a half grin. He hadn’t heard that from her for a while. “I love you too.” 

“Let me come with you, then,” she murmured. “Please.” 

Paul stared at her a moment longer before he kissed her forehead. “All right,” he said. “You can come.” 

“Thank you,” Charlotte said with a grin of her own. 

Paul used his arm to bring her lips to his, and Charlotte wrapped her arms around his shoulders to pull him over to her. 

Or rather, pull him on top of her. 

Paul allowed her to kiss him for a few moments longer before he pulled back and brushed her hair out of her eyes. “We’re supposed to be there tomorrow.” 

“Which means we have plenty more time for this,” Charlotte answered breezily, leaning up to recapture his lips. 

Paul couldn't exactly argue with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *glances everywhere but at readers*  
> I did not avoid writing the smut. I did NOT avoid writing the smut.  
> JUST KIDDING I DID.   
> Later, friends, later. Much later. And maybe not at all, because the scene I wrote is a bit... messy.   
> We'll see.   
> I'll be back sometime. In March probably. After the first week. Because choir competition.   
> Love you. <3


	12. A Lesson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Paul and Charlotte get to Barrett's farm, Sam can't hold his tongue, and Charlotte says a line from the show.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Choir competition was hella rockin'. Knott's Berry Farm was also hella rockin'. I am also hella sore. Go figure.

The day after the couple's reconciliation, Paul rode up to Barrett’s farm with Charlotte behind him on the horse. Sam was waiting outside against the house, and he strolled over as Paul helped Charlotte down. 

"What're you doing here?" he asked her. 

"If you must know," Charlotte began, "I'm tired of not being able to see Paul for weeks at a time, and I've been a part of this since the start. Isn't it only fair I'm allowed to be witness to training as well?" 

Sam's gaze shifted to Paul. "She's not just here to warm your bed and make the rest of us jealous?" 

"Of course I'm here for that, too," Charlotte answered. "Especially to make you jealous, Sam." 

He smirked at her. “I missed you, Char," he said earnestly.

“I’ve missed you too,” she agreed with a small grin.  

Sam gazed at her a moment longer before looking at Paul again. "We were waiting for you." 

"Right," Paul replied. He looked at Charlotte. "You ready to see our army?" She nodded, and he slipped his hand around hers. "Come on." 

Sam led them to the far side of the barn, which was hidden from the road, and Charlotte nodded approvingly at what she saw. Men, at least one hundred, if not more, we're surrounding different targets and preparing to aim and fire. 

"I'm surprised there are so many," she commented to the two men standing on either side of her.

"Dr. Warren and Sam are very persuasive," Paul told her. 

"Everyone hates what General Gage is doing," Sam said. "All they needed was a little push." 

Across the area, the man Paul and Dr. Warren had helped, Peter Salem, set his musket down on a wagon and took aim at something. Charlotte watched in amazement as he hit an apple that was at least thirty yards away from him. 

John Hancock was leaning against a tree, and he jumped when the apple splattered against it. He studied the remains for a moment before calling, "Impressive shot!" 

Salem had slung his weapon over his shoulder and was strolling away. He waved his hand to acknowledge John's praise, but did nothing more than that. 

Charlotte lifted her eyebrow. "They appear to be doing well," she said to Paul and Sam. 

"They are," Sam responded. "And they can only get better." 

"I think they can shape up to be formidable marksmen," John Hancock agreed as he walked over to them. "With time, of course." He held out his hand to Paul, who shook it. "Mr. Revere, good to have you back so soon, and you brought your lovely wife with you." 

"I was a bit tired of being left behind," Charlotte explained, accepting the kiss he gave her hand. "Of course, that isn't the only thing I was tired of." 

"No, I'm sure you missed Mr. Revere's company very much while he was away," Hancock said. 

"More than you could guess." 

"I doubt that." 

Charlotte took a step closer to Paul, who slid a comforting arm around her waist. "I believe we should get on with the training," he said. 

"Indeed," John Hancock replied, beginning to walk away again. 

"God, he's a -" Charlotte muttered under her breath when he was gone.

"Yes, but he's important," Paul said quickly, cutting her off. 

"Unfortunately," Sam put in, watching Hancock disappear into the farmhouse. 

"Sam! Come over here and help me with this!" a man called, and Sam nodded to Charlotte and Paul before jogging over to him. 

Charlotte glanced up at Paul. "You already know how to use one of these," she said, gesturing to a rack of guns with her head. 

"Yeah," Paul replied, reaching over and taking one. "It isn't something I like to think about, since I learned how in my time fighting with the British, but..." 

"At least you know," Charlotte said. 

Paul raised the gun to his shoulder and aimed before squeezing the trigger. There was nothing in the gun, so nothing came out, and he glanced over at her. 

"Scared you, didn't I?" he asked with a grin. 

"No," she argued, dusting off her skirt. "I'm fine." She glanced over at Sam. "Does he know?" 

Paul set the gun down and followed her gaze. "About what?"

"That Gage is after him." 

Paul shrugged. "He's probably guessed. Why do you ask?" 

"He isn't safe here," Charlotte said. "Neither of them are." 

"You think they should leave." 

"I think that if the British come here, it's best if Sam and Mr. Hancock aren't present," Charlotte replied. 

"It's a matter of whether or not Sam will go," Paul said, watching his friend walk away towards the barn entrance. 

"You could convince him," Charlotte told him. 

Paul looked at her. "I'm glad you have faith in me," he said with a grin. 

"Do you have a place in mind?" Charlotte queried. 

"I do, actually," Paul answered. "I should go talk to him about it." 

Charlotte nodded. Paul walked after Sam, and Charlotte followed at a slower pace, pausing around the corner of the barn. 

"Word around Boston is that Gage is looking for you," she heard Paul say. "If he catches you, you'll hang." 

“If he catches me, that’s one thing, but if he finds all this?” Sam queried. 

“All right, well…” There was a pause. “I know a house down the road in Lexington,” Paul said. “You could hide out there until they come up with a plan.” 

“Good,” Sam agreed.

Charlotte let out a relieved breath and started around the barn to join them, but stopped when she saw John Hancock come out of the farmhouse. Sam had begun to walk away, but Paul had seen him too. 

"Sam," he said, bringing Sam to a pause. "What about him?" 

"Who?" 

"Hancock." 

Sam came back to the entrance of the barn and peered out towards Hancock for a moment before turning to Paul. "What about Hancock?"

"Gage knows he's paying for all this," Paul responded. "He's a fugitive too."

Sam let out a breath and glanced past Paul towards Charlotte, who raised her shoulders. 

"Then I guess he's coming with me, isn't he?" he asked Paul. He then held up a finger. "One week. I'll go tell him." He started to walk towards Hancock and paused. "I think I'll leave out the part about the hanging." 

"Probably a good idea," Paul agreed. Sam continued on to John, and Charlotte approached Paul. 

"That was good," she said. 

"I didn't think he'd agree so easily," Paul admitted. He let out a breath and placed his hands on her shoulders. “Even with Sam and John safely in Lexington, there’s still a threat.” 

“Well, of course,” Charlotte answered. “We are armed.” 

“We may be armed, but the Redcoats know the chances of us being able to fight them off are very, very slim,” Paul said. “I wouldn’t put it past them to try something if they find out where we are.” 

“You don’t think we’d lose, do you?” Charlotte asked him.

“No,” Paul replied quickly. “I’m worried that they’ll try to take our guns.” 

“And then we won’t have anything to fight them with,” Charlotte concluded. She let out a breath. “Right. So, we need to make sure they don’t find us.”

“Do you think there’s a way to guarantee that?” Paul queried. 

“No, not really, but we can try, right?” 

“Sure,” Paul responded. “We can try.” He cupped her cheek with his hand and leaned down far enough to kiss her. Charlotte closed her eyes and put her arms around him as he pulled back.

"How do you do this?" he asked her.

"Do what?"

"Press yourself against me so that there's no space between us," Paul explained. 

Charlotte grinned and looked at him. "It isn't me," she said. "It's just the way it is." 

Paul returned the grin and kissed her again. "I'm glad I brought you," he said softly. 

"Mm, so am I," Charlotte agreed. She leaned up to give him a kiss of her own, and Sam gagged nearby. 

“Enough of that,” he complained, coming into the barn. “We aren’t here to watch you two make love, all right?” 

“Sure, Sam,” Charlotte said with a smile, backing away from Paul. She left her hand in his, however, and glanced around. “Where do we sleep?” she asked after a moment. Paul and Sam exchanged an amused glance, and Charlotte frowned immediately. “I don’t like that look at all.”

“Remember,  _ you _ wanted to come with me,” Paul informed her. 

“How bad is it?” 

“The hayloft.” 

Charlotte wrinkled her nose and then let out a sigh. “All right,” she decided. “I wanted to be here, and if I have to sleep in hay, I will.” 

“Just don’t roll around in it, kids,” Sam warned, giving them both looks. “I don’t want any complaints from the boys that they couldn’t get sleep because Charlotte was moaning.” 

“Samuel!” Charlotte exclaimed, reaching over and whacking him on the shoulder. He grinned and stepped away from her with a shrug. 

“Maybe you’re different with Paul, I don’t know.” Charlotte’s cheeks darkened, and she glanced at her husband. Paul was not smiling, either. Sam realized what he had said and cringed. “Sorry,” he began quietly. “I shouldn’t have -” 

“Charlie,” Paul began, glancing at her, “I asked Sam a few days ago if he wouldn’t mind teaching you a couple things about defending yourself, but I don’t know if I want him to do that, now.”

Charlotte looked from him to Sam, biting her lip. “He didn’t mean it.”

“I know,” Paul said shortly. “But this is more for me, all right? C’mon.” 

Charlotte glanced at Sam once more before she allowed Paul to lead her out of the barn and towards the woods. She looked over her shoulder and saw Sam watching them go. He then bowed his head and disappeared into the barn. 

“Paul…” 

“I have a very bad temper,” he finished. “I know I shouldn’t have acted like that, but Sam needs to get control of his tongue.” 

“Paul, we’ve been married for four years, and not once has Sam done anything wrong,” Charlotte said gently. “It was an honest mistake.” 

“I know,” Paul agreed. They made it to a clearing and he stopped, looking down at the ground. “I just… you’re…” 

“Hey.” Charlotte placed her hand against his cheek, and Paul’s eyes lifted to meet hers. She gave him a small grin. “I love you.” 

Paul returned the smile and nodded once, taking her hand in his. “I was thinking that you should learn how to use some kind of weapon,” he said, bringing her hand to the knife on his waist. Charlotte looked at it for a moment, her grin fading. 

“I don’t -” 

“I know that it sounds threatening, but it will make me feel a lot better if you know how to defend yourself,” Paul explained. He let her take her hand back and he pulled the knife out himself. “Let’s just try, and we’ll see what happens.” 

Charlotte gazed at him for a moment before she nodded, and he offered the knife to her, grip first. She gingerly took it from him and held it in the way she thought appropriate. 

Paul was grinning. He walked around behind her and adjusted her hips to a different angle before lowering the elbow of the arm with the knife. “Use the knife to protect yourself,” he said in her ear, “not just for stabbing.” He returned to the front of her and reached forward to loosen the grip she had on the weapon. 

Charlotte frowned. “I’m barely holding it.” 

“It’ll make it easier to use,” Paul replied. He stepped back and held out his arms. “Attack me.” 

“You can’t be serious,” Charlotte said, blinking. 

Paul came forward, twisted her wrist with one hand and caught the dropped knife with the other when Charlotte let out a yelp of pain. He flipped the weapon around and held it against her neck. With a single slice, she’d be dead. 

“Rude,” Charlotte said stiffly, pushing him away from her. She rubbed the wrist he’d twisted and glared at him. 

“You gave me the advantage,” Paul explained. He offered the knife to her once more, and she looked away with a huff. He let out a sigh. “Charlie, please?” 

“It’s ridiculous,” she decided. “I’m not going to be able to learn how to do this with you as my teacher. I don’t want to hurt you.” 

Paul gazed at her for a moment before he nodded and put the knife away. “All right,” he said, leaning down and picking up two sticks. He held one out to her. “Let’s start with something less dangerous.” 

Charlotte looked at the stick, and then at him. He smiled sweetly, and she snorted before taking the practice weapon. “Fine,” she muttered. “What should I do first?” 

“It all depends on your attacker,” he responded. “Let’s say I have a knife, too. If that’s the case, you’ll want to always be able to stop my knife from hitting you, whether it be by using your other arm, or your own knife. Imagine our blades are connected, and you have to move yours every time I move mine.”

Charlotte frowned, but all the same glanced from her stick to his. Paul moved his to the left, and she followed his lead. He took a step towards her, and she backed up, as though the stick coming closer had pushed her away. 

Paul took a swing at her, and Charlotte automatically brought her own stick against his. They made contact with a small scraping sound, and she met his gaze. Paul held her attention on him as he pulled his stick away and jabbed at her abdomen. Charlotte quickly spun away from the attack and turned to face him again before he could catch her unawares. All the same, Paul had managed to get behind her, and he tripped her up with his boot, sending her falling to the ground. 

Charlotte let out an “oomph” on impact, and then Paul was straddling her, holding her wrists to the ground on either side of her head. 

“Pinned,” he said. 

Charlotte smirked and leaned up in an effort to kiss him. When she had him distracted, she wiggled a leg free from under him and kneed him in the side. Paul grunted against her lips and fell off of her into the fallen leaves. Charlotte rolled on top of him and locked his own wrists against the ground. 

“Pinned,” she informed him smartly. 

“Fine,” he said, “but you won’t have the kissing advantage with every opponent.” 

“Then perhaps we should take this a bit more seriously,” Charlotte suggested, climbing to her feet and offering her hand to him. Instead of accepting it, Paul swung his leg around and knocked hers out from beneath her. 

Charlotte thudded to the ground, her rear aching as soon as it hit the dirt. “Ouch,” she complained, glaring at her husband. She saw him aiming for her neck with his stick, and she quickly hurried to her feet and brought her knee against his chin. 

Paul fell backwards into the leaves with a groan, and Charlotte picked her way over to him, shaking leaves from her hair. “Don’t do that again,” she said, and then poked him in the chest with her stick. “You’re dead.” 

“All right,” he muttered, rubbing his chin as he climbed to his feet. “That was good. However, the chances of you fighting someone with a knife are very small.” 

“The chances of me fighting anyone at all are small,” Charlotte corrected, brushing dirt off her skirt. She looked up and found herself face to face with Paul’s gun. “Uhm…” 

“What happens if you’re alone in the wounds, and a Redcoat finds you?” Paul queried. Charlotte instinctively rotated so that she was standing sideways, giving Paul less of a target. “He decides that you look threatening enough, even with those pretty green eyes of yours. He asks, “What are you doing out here on your lonesome?” What do you respond with?” 

Charlotte decided to just play along. She gave her husband a steady look and said, “I’m a colonial scout for an armed resistance against the tyranny of General Gage and the British Crown.” 

Paul lifted an eyebrow and grinned. “Really?” 

“Yeah,” Charlotte answered. She then took a quick step forward, grabbed the arm holding the gun, pointed it to the ground, and slapped Paul across the face. 

He dropped the gun, and she kicked it away from him just before he regained his senses and grabbed both her wrists in one hand. “That wasn’t very fair,” he commented, walking her backwards. “I wasn’t expecting such a sarcastic response. It was something I’d do.” 

Charlotte’s back hit a tree, and Paul pushed her wrists against the trunk, holding them above her head. “Because of that,” he began, “it was funny.” 

“What happens if I get into this position in a real fight?” Charlotte questioned. 

“Well, typically, I think you’d kick your opposer in the place where it hurts the most, but you won’t do that to me because -” 

“I think it’s best if you leave it there,” Charlotte suggested. 

“Probably a good idea,” Paul agreed. He hadn’t let go of her wrists, and he was standing close enough that their chests brushed with every inhale they took. “You think we have time?” he asked, seeing the want in Charlotte’s eyes.  

“I don’t know,” Charlotte answered. She offered him a teasing grin. “Are you up for the challenge?” 

Paul allowed a short growl and began to unlace the front of his breeches with one hand. “You always know the right way to convince me, don’t you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to put Paul's snarky-ass line in there. It was completely necessary. I had already missed "Shit tea". I couldn't leave out this one, too. And although it is not him saying it, it's still snarky-ass, and I love it so much.   
> Also, there's a line from Hamilton in here. Who can find it?


	13. Midnight Rides

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the war begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good lord, how many chapters have I summarized with a line like that one?

A week later, Paul and Charlotte were back in Boston for a small reconnaissance with Dr. Warren. They were set to return to Barrett’s farm the next morning, and Paul had suggested Charlotte get some rest before they rode off at dawn.

She was just beginning to fall asleep when she heard the door downstairs bang close. Charlotte sat up instantly and hurried down the stairs, forgetting about her robe. She found Dr. Warren standing in the workshop, alone.

“Joseph?”

He glanced over at her and then looked down at the floor. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

“What’s happened?” Charlotte demanded going over to him.

“The Redcoats are marching for Lexington and Concord to arrest Sam and Hancock and seize the munitions,” he explained. “Paul went to warn them.”

Charlotte drew her eyebrows together. “And he won’t be coming back.” Dr. Warren shook his head, and she closed her eyes. “Fine,” she said. “Then you’re taking me with you.”

“What?” Warren asked, his eyes widening. “No. Charlotte, this is the war. It’s starting. You can’t come.”

“I'm sorry, do you think I’m going to let my husband go off to war without a word to me? He could die tonight, Warren, and I didn’t get to say goodbye or anything!”

“We could all die tonight, Charlotte,” Dr. Warren replied. “I can’t bring you with me. I’m sorry. You’ll have to stay here in Boston.”

He started to walk around her to get to the door, and Charlotte grabbed his sleeve to pull him to a halt. “Promise me, then, that you’ll keep him safe,” she whispered.

Warren stared at her for a moment before he nodded. “I promise; he’ll be fine.”

Charlotte nodded and let him go. “Be careful, Joseph,” she said.

“You too,” he responded, and then ducked out of the workshop. Charlotte watched him disappear down the street, and then she retreated back inside, closing the door and locking it. She sank down into a nearby chair and covered her face with her hands, swallowing a sob.

There was no point in getting upset. She wasn’t going to see Paul again for a long while, and it was best if she got used to it as soon as possible.

She lowered her hands and clasped them in her lap, gazing into the flames that were glowing close by. Something reflected the light and glinted on the work table nearby. Charlotte frowned and stood, walking over to it.

She let out a breath when she saw what it was, and she reached out and touched the ring with a timid finger, in case it was hot. It wasn’t, and she allowed herself to pick it up. She’d told Paul that it kept sliding off her finger, and that she needed it tightened. He’d taken it from her with the promise he’d fix it.

She held it up and studied it, eyes widening when she noticed a new addition to the silver on the inside of the ring.

It was an inscription, and it read: _I’ll always keep you safe_.

Charlotte closed her eyes and slid the ring onto her finger before holding her hand against her chest. “Fine,” she sighed. “I’ll stay here, and stay safe.”

\--

“Hey! Halt!”

“Ah, shit.” Paul hid his face behind his neckerchief and flicked his reins. His horse sped up, and he pulled his hatchet out of his belt before taking aim and throwing it. It hit one Redcoat in the shoulder, and he fell off his horse, dragging his sorry hide away into the trees.

Paul grabbed for his gun and leaned out of the way of the other soldier’s shot before taking a shot of his own. The Redcoat flew off of his horse and hit the ground with a thud.

Paul pulled his horse to a halt and put his gun away just as shouts came from within the trees. “There he is!”

Paul had only two seconds to survey his options before he nudged his horse with his heel and attempted to ride straight past the Redcoats that were coming towards him. Just when he’d thought he made it, one of the soldiers fired, and Paul went flying, his horse disappearing from beneath him. He hit the ground rolling, and came to a halt.

He remained where he was, dazed, but cleared his mind when he heard the Redcoat hop down off his own horse and come towards him. The Redcoat kicked him over onto his back, and Paul immediately grabbed the end of his rifle and pointed it at the ground as he fired, leaning up and punching the soldier in the face.

A wrestle ensued, and Paul struggled to choke the Redcoat, holding his musket tightly against his neck. Unfortunately, the soldier was trained, and strong, and he flipped Paul over onto his back. Paul crawled away, narrowly avoiding getting smashed in the face by the musket. The soldier went for him again, and Paul’s vision darkened as the rifle made contact.

He collapsed to the ground with a short groan, and he faintly heard the sounds of a fight before someone fell to the grass next to him. There was silence for a moment, and then a gun was fired, another body hitting the ground.

Paul struggled to sit up, but he couldn’t move. He couldn’t get his eyes to open, either. There was quiet murmuring nearby, and then a familiar voice in his ear: “Paul?”

He rolled over and found Sam crouched over him. “Are you hurt?” he asked, and Paul glanced around, blinking, before he shook his head.

“I’ll survive.” Sam pulled him to his feet, and Paul staggered at the sudden motion, Sam’s hand on his arm to keep him steady. He noticed Hancock standing a few feet away, looking down at a dead Redcoat with a blank expression on his face.

“John.” His eyes turned to Paul. “Thank you.” John nodded, once, and Paul looked back at Sam. “I’m gonna head for Concord. You and him get to safety,” he said.

Sam watched as Paul made his way towards his horse, who was grazing nearby. He studied her for a moment, relief filling him when he saw she wasn’t hurt. He rested a hand on her neck as Sam said, “Paul.” He glanced over at his friend, who was gazing at him closely. “Take care of yourself. You have a wife to get back too.”

Paul gave his horse a pat before taking the reins in his hand and leading her away from Sam and John.

Sam watched him disappear, and then Hancock was stepping up beside him. Sam looked down at the ground as Hancock gave him a gentle pat on the shoulder.

“I’m fine,” Sam insisted. He’d told John about his feelings for Charlotte during their time at the house in Lexington. Hancock must have guessed that reminding Paul about her was more of a reminder for Sam. One he didn’t need, nor should he want.

“Come on,” Sam said to Hancock, turning to get back to their own horses.

\--

It didn’t take long for Charlotte to realize Boston wasn’t as safe as she thought it was. She was walking back from the fabric shop to the workshop a few days later, and she noticed that there were more Redcoats on the streets than Boston citizens.

She frowned, and slowed when she saw a group of more important looking Redcoats going into the house John Hancock had previously occupied and that had been taken over by General Gage. The doors shut behind them, and Charlotte allowed herself to creep closer.

She avoided a group of soldiers that were patrolling the street in front of the house and darted down an alley. She slid up to a window and peered inside. She found herself looking into a sitting room. On one side, she saw Margaret Gage, the General’s wife, seated in a chair and sewing. A lady stood nearby, waiting to serve.

Mrs. Gage’s eyes drifted upwards for some reason, and Charlotte waved at her. Her eyes grew, and she spoke briefly to her maid. The girl nodded and left the room. As soon as she was gone, Margaret Gage stood and hurried over to the window. She opened it and stared at Charlotte for a moment.

“You’re Joseph’s friend,” she said quietly.

“I am,” Charlotte agreed, “and General Gage is hosting officers. I saw them go into the house. Do you know what they’re talking about?”

Mrs. Gage shook her head. “If I did I would tell you. Do you know if Joseph was able to help the others?”

“Yes, he was,” Charlotte said. “At least, I think so. He sent my husband out to warn them.”

“I’m sorry,” Margaret apologized.

“It’s fine. I just need to know if there’s anything important going on so I can try to tell them,” Charlotte said quickly.

Margaret’s eyes grew again. “You’re going to try to leave the city?”

“Only if there’s something important enough to risk my life to tell the others,” Charlotte replied. “I need your help.”

Margaret hesitated for a moment before she glanced over her shoulder. “Wait here,” she said softly. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Charlotte nodded and stepped away from the window. Mrs. Gage closed it and Charlotte saw her walk away.

Charlotte waited in the alley for what felt like ages, pacing. Eventually, however, there was knocking on the window, and she looked up. Margaret was standing behind it, and she opened it long enough to slide a folded parchment to Charlotte.

“If you could give that to Joseph after you show it to Mr. Adams, I would appreciate it,” she whispered. “Good luck.”

Charlotte watched her close the window and then disappear once more. She unfolded the parchment and read the information:

_They are starting to get nervous. Thomas is making sure no one will be able to leave Boston, and they are sending for reinforcements. It will not be long before they arrive.  
_

_\- M_

Charlotte didn’t know why Margaret would want her to give this to Dr. Warren, but she didn’t question it. Instead, she slid the parchment into her corset and hurried out of the alley and towards the fabric shop. She needed to plan this very carefully, because she would only have one chance to do it right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short, I know, but the next part was to long to include it in this chapter, so... there's that.   
> I think two weeks between chapters is a good time period. Course, I'll probably get the urge to update sooner than that on occasion, but for now... it's working for me.   
> Love you.


	14. Encampment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the rebel encampment isn't exactly what Charlotte was expecting, but she doesn't say anything about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These summaries are getting harder and harder to come up with.

Sam gazed down at the small fire that was glowing near his feet, and half-heartedly poked at it with a stick. The final count had come back to him, as had the names of those they’d lost. Kelly’s body hadn't been found, but he hadn't been amongst the survivors, either.

He knew that his friend had been willing to die for this, as they all were, but he couldn't help but wonder if Kelly had somehow run off, and was trying to figure out how to get to one of the encampments they had set up around Boston. That, or he was a captive, and the Redcoats were trying to get information out of him in the only way they knew how. 

Sam cringed at the thought of Kelly get flogged. He hated the idea of his friend being kept alive only to get tortured, and he kind of wished Kelly had been killed in battle instead of having to suffer through whatever it was the Redcoats were doing to him. 

Thankfully, Dr. Warren joined him beside the fire, pulling Sam from his thoughts, and offered him an apple. Sam shook his head, and Warren slid it back into his pocket. Sam stared at the fire for a moment longer before he glanced sideways at his friend. 

“Is it true about you and Gage’s wife?” Warren clearly hadn’t been expecting that, because he gave Sam a small look of surprise before busying himself with an apple of his own. Sam let out a breath and glanced down at the ground. “You were always the one looking out for me,” he started, “but this time, I’m telling you.” He looked back at Warren. “Be careful.” 

Dr. Warren gave him a small nod of understanding and stood again, handing Sam the other apple. “I’ll be fine,” he said, turning and walking away through the tents. Sam watched him go before turning his attention back to the fire and tossing his stick into it. 

He brushed off the apple Warren had given him and frowned. He wasn’t hungry. 

“Sam.” He looked up at Paul’s voice. His friend approached, holding a musket in one hand. “There’s a rider approaching from Boston. Alone.” 

Sam’s frown deepened and he stood, leaving the apple on his block of wood. “Is it a soldier?” Paul shook his head, and Sam glanced past him. “All right, go tell a few of the boys we might have a problem.” 

Paul nodded and went to do as he’d said. Sam left the vicinity of the camp and strolled down towards the road. He could see the horse for himself as he got closer, and by the time he’d reached it, the rider was only ten yards away. 

Sam’s hand drifted to the gun on his waist, and he turned to conceal it from the rider as they stopped their horse next to him. The person was dressed in all black, including a hooded cloak. Sam frowned as they climbed down from their mount; they were very small, too small to be a threat. 

"Who are you?" he demanded of the figure. 

"You know who I am," a woman's voice responded, and the hood lowered to reveal Charlotte. Sam relaxed at once, and he removed his hand from his gun just as Charlotte threw her arms around him in a tight hug. 

Sam hesitated a moment before returning the embrace, and allowing himself to enjoy it. She was definitely a welcome sight. 

“I’m glad to see you’re all right,” she said into his chest before pulling back to look up at him with a grin. “You look like you’re in one piece, at least.” 

“I am, thanks to your husband,” he replied, returning the grin. “How the hell did you get out of Boston?” 

“Long story I don’t want to tell twice,” she said. “Take me to camp and I’ll tell you and Paul both.” 

Sam nodded, and she took hold of her horse’s reins before following him up the rise and towards the encampment. A mixture of emotions went over Charlotte’s face when she saw it close up, but then her smile returned. 

“War, huh?” she asked. 

“That’s what it is,” Sam agreed. 

“Mrs. Revere!” A few of the men recognized her as soon as they passed them. Amos came over, a big grin on his face. “What are you doing here?” he asked her. 

“Well, I couldn’t let you boys fight without me!” she said with a laugh, handing the reins to another rebel. “Amos, if you could find Paul -” 

“Of course!” he answered immediately, hurrying off to do just that. 

Sam led Charlotte towards the center of camp, where the big command tent was, and he led her inside. “Are you hungry?” he asked her as she sat down in a chair. “We don’t have much, but uh… we have apples.” 

“I’m all right, Sam,” she answered with a small smile. “Thank you.” 

“Charlie?” Paul poked his head into the tent, and she stood up from her chair as soon as she saw him. A giant grin broke out across his face, and Paul brushed the flaps further open and hurried over to where she was. 

Charlotte flew into his arms and circled her own around his neck with a giggle. Sam bowed his head as she kissed Paul deeply, pulling away only to tighten their hug. Paul cupped her face in his hands and covered it in light kisses. 

“I love you,” he whispered between kisses. “I love you, I love you, I love you...” 

“You are very lucky you’re still alive,” Charlotte whispered, meeting his gaze. 

"How did you get out of Boston?" Paul asked. 

“Right,” she said, pulling back to look at both him and Sam. “I snuck out.” 

“You what?” Sam demanded.

“You snuck out of a city under the watch of Redcoats?” Paul exclaimed. Charlotte merely shrugged, and Paul reached for her again. “How?”

He sat down in the chair she’d vacated and pulled her onto his lap. Charlotte studied the ground for a moment. “I wasn’t sure how I was going to do it at first,” she started at last. “I mean, the Redcoats are all over Boston now. You can’t walk two feet without one coming out of an alley right in front of you. Obviously, I waited until nightfall.” She pulled at her dark clothing. “When it was pitch black outside, I crept out of the workshop through the rear door, you know, the one closer to the stables. Then, sticking to the shadows, I went and got my horse. Don’t worry; I didn’t steal him.” 

“Store money?” Paul guessed, and Charlotte nodded. 

“I didn’t know I’d use it to rent a horse, but I did. I was surprised the stable hand was willing; Gage ordered that no one was to leave Boston, and if they did, they were to be shot on sight.” 

“So, what?” Sam asked. “You just rode out of Boston without any threat whatsoever?” 

“Of course not,” Charlotte answered. “I didn’t ride until I was a hundred yards away from the stables. I stuck to the woods, which is why it took me so long to get here. Of course, I almost got caught by the checkpoint soldiers, but whenever I heard something, I stopped walking until I could only hear my heartbeat.” She shook her head. “I’m just as surprised as you are that it worked, believe me.” 

“That was the most risky thing anyone has done in this entire revolution,” Paul concluded. “Thank God you’re all right.” He attempted to hug her against him, but Charlotte pulled out of his grasp and stood. 

“We don’t have time to waste,” she said. “The Redcoats aren’t going to be in Boston forever.” 

“What do you mean?” Sam questioned.

Charlotte glanced at him. “General Gage called all his commanding officers to his home.” 

Sam looked Paul. “What are they doing in there?” he asked Charlotte.

“Calling for reinforcement, planning an attack,” Charlotte responded. 

“And you know this… how?” Sam asked her. 

Charlotte reached into the bosom of her corset and pulled out a piece of parchment. She offered it to Sam, who unfolded it and read it. He let out a breath and raised his eyes. “Mrs. Gage?” Charlotte nodded, and he carried the parchment out of the tent and towards the fire. 

“Wait,” Charlotte said, coming out of the tent behind him, and he stopped, glancing over his shoulder. “She wanted me to give it to Warren.” 

“Warren?” Charlotte merely gazed at him. Sam glanced down at the parchment in his hand, and then flipped it over, looking for a love note. Charlotte shook her head. 

“There’s nothing there. She wanted me to give it to him, but I don’t have any idea why. Maybe it’s something only they can see, or maybe it’s just her handwriting...” She shrugged, and Sam rolled his eyes before handing her the parchment. 

“Take it to him, but have him burn it as soon as he’s done lamenting over it.” He nodded to Paul, who had also emerged from the tent. “We have a battle to prepare for.” 

Charlotte turned to her husband as Sam ducked back into the tent, and she leaned up on her toes to plant a kiss on his lips. Paul held her against him even after she’d pulled away. 

“I didn’t think I’d see you again for a long time,” he said softly, burying his nose in her hair. 

Charlotte laughed. “You’re supposed to keep me safe, remember?” she asked him. “I wasn’t about to let you leave me in Boston where I was in danger.” 

“In a way, you were keeping yourself safe, then,” Paul said. 

“Nah,” Charlotte said with a smirk. “You’re going to do the hard part. Getting out of Boston was easy.” 

He kissed her again, deeper this time, and then hugged her tightly. “I’ll always keep you safe, Charlie. I promise,” he swore.

“I know; it says so on the ring,” she told him, pulling away. She kissed the tip of his nose and then took a step back. “I have a message to deliver to Dr. Warren, and you have a battle plan to lay out.” 

“But later -?” 

Charlotte grinned. “Later,” she agreed. “I’ll find you, and you can… show me your tent.” She winked and turned, sauntering away. Paul watched her go, admiring her rear in the black breeches she was wearing, before he shook his head and turned to follow Sam. 

Charlotte found her way to the medical tent with the help of a rebel, and she poked her head in. “Dr. Warren?” 

He glanced up from the parchment he was writing on, and his eyes widened. “Charlotte! What are you doing here?” 

She entered the tent fully. “I got out of Boston. I uh… I have a message to deliver. From Margaret.” She held out the parchment, and Dr. Warren took it from her. “I don’t know what’s on there…”

Warren unfolded the parchment and looked it over, a small smile crossing his face. “Nothing,” he said quietly, glancing up. “But it’s enough that I have it. Thank you, Charlotte.” 

“You’re welcome,” she answered with a dip of her head. 

“I wish I could send her one,” he sighed under his breath. 

“Sam asked me to tell you to burn it when you were finished “lamenting over it”.” 

Warren let out a breath. “He’s right to want me to destroy it,” he agreed. “I will.” 

“All right,” Charlotte said. “Then my work is done.” 

She stepped out of the tent and glanced around. 

"Mrs. Revere?" She glanced in the direction of John Hancock's voice, and saw he was walking towards her, confused. "What are you doing here?" 

"I found a way out of Boston so that I could deliver some news," she responded, turning and walking away. 

John didn't realize she was trying to leave, and he joined her. "What kind of news?" 

"The British are going to attack," Charlotte answered. "Don't know when, but Gage called for reinforcements from London. They'll be in Boston Harbor by the boatload before we can say "freedom"." 

“How do you know about this?” Hancock asked. 

“Do I have to answer all your questions, or can I go about my business, Mr. Hancock?” John glanced sideways at her as they continued to walk, and then he bowed his head and stopped. 

“I apologize if I have given you reason not to like me, Mrs. Revere,” he said quietly. Charlotte paused and glanced over her shoulder at him. “I know that I haven’t exactly been the most welcoming, but it’s only because I didn’t believe you should be apart of all this. I realize now that I was wrong.” 

“Well, thank you for the apology,” Charlotte responded. “I appreciate it.” She turned and continued on to the big command tent. 

She found Sam and Paul inside, and they were exchanging looks of defeat as she entered. “Why the long faces?” she asked them. 

“We don’t know how we’re going to fight the Redcoats,” Sam muttered in response. “We’re outnumbered, and we’re low on gunpowder.” 

Charlotte drew her eyebrows together. “That’s no reason to just sit down,” she said. “We can’t let them know that they weren’t the only ones kicked around by Lexington and Concord. We won, and we need to act like it.” 

“We followed them here, didn’t we?” Sam queried. 

“What does that prove? That we want our city back?” Charlotte tilted her head. “If they don’t realize that by now, then they’re even stupider than I originally thought.” 

“They’re not stupid, which is unfortunate for us,” Paul responded. “They are, however, lacking a reason to fight with us. The only thing keeping them here is the command from their king.” 

“So, what?” Charlotte queried. “Are we supposed to just wait here for them?”

“We need help.” John Hancock slid into the tent, looking worried. “Have you seen the count?” he asked the men. 

“Of course we have,” Sam answered. He scowled. “We won’t be getting help from the other colonies. They made that quite clear when we were in Philadelphia last time.” 

“Sam, your cousin is here!” someone called from outside the tent. The four of them exited it outside into the sunshine just as John Adams slid down from the back of a horse.

“I need a word,” he said to Sam. 

“You hear about Kelly?” Sam questioned as Joseph Warren appeared from between two tent. 

Charlotte glanced at Paul as John Adams started to pull off his gloves. “The Redcoats returned with a captive,” he said. “I didn't know it was Kelly until early this morning.” 

“What happened?” Paul asked, his eyebrows coming together. 

John glanced at Sam before wetting his lips. “They flogged him. Publicly.” 

Charlotte closed her eyes and let out a low groan while Sam kicked the ground in frustration. Paul looked like he was about to collapse. 

“Is he all right?” Warren asked. 

“He was still conscious when they took him away, but…” John Adams lifted his shoulders and glanced at Sam. “I'm sorry.” 

“I could have got him out last night if I'd known he was in Boston,” Charlotte murmured. 

There was a moment of silence, during which she and Sam exchanged a look that she broke off first. 

“They’ve called a second Continental Congress,” John Adams started. “They demand an explanation of you.” 

Sam frowned. “They want it right now?” 

“Yes, now,” John Adams answered. 

Charlotte watched as Sam scoffed and turned a glare to the ground. “In case they hadn’t noticed, we’re in the middle of a fight, here,” he said sourly. 

“That’s what they’re afraid of,” John informed him. 

Sam was silent for a moment, and in that moment Charlotte moved leaned back against Paul. Her touch brought him back to the present, and he wrapped his arms around her waist. 

Sam finally looked up again. “What’s the point?” he asked his cousin. “So that I can watch them write another love letter to the king?” 

“Gage’s troops will be back,” Paul said to John Adams. “More men, more firepower.” 

“He’s right,” Sam agreed. 

“I’ve seen him preparing for battle,” Charlotte supplied. “He plans on attacking as soon as he can.” 

“They’ll join the British,” John Adams declared. “The delegates. They’ll claim sides, and they’ll join the British against us.” 

“He’s right,” John Hancock sighed, speaking for the first time. “He’s right. I’ve been around rich men my whole life, and they will not loose. They will not lose their fortunes. Anything but their fortunes. They will always take the side of power.”

“Sam, you have to convince them otherwise,” Charlotte said quietly. Sam started to shake his head, but Hancock interrupted him. 

“Gentlemen, the Crown, Gage, the empire, they will stop at nothing to make these men turn, and they will turn.” He paused. “If they had offered it to me… I would’ve taken it.” 

A long moment of silence followed his revelation, and then Paul spoke: “Warren and I can stay here. We’ll hold the line.” 

Sam didn’t look like he wanted to agree, but Charlotte knew he knew he didn’t have a choice. “Fine,” he said with a shake of his head. He then pointed at John Hancock. “But you’re coming with us.” John nodded, and went off with the other Adams. Sam gestured to Warren, and the doctor followed him a few paces away. 

Charlotte turned in Paul’s arms so that she could look at him. “We’re going to be all right, right?” she asked hopefully. 

“I don’t know,” Paul said honestly. “I wish that I could tell you that we will be, but we are outnumbered and there are so many other things they have that we don’t.”

“We have something that they don’t,” Charlotte offered, and he looked at her. She smiled. “A hunger.” 

“We’ll leave tomorrow morning,” Sam decided as he walked over to them. “I don’t know what good this is going to do; they’re just going to yell at me again.” 

“Maybe you should try to turn their anger towards the British instead,” Charlotte suggested. 

Sam let out a breath and glanced at the ground briefly before looking at Paul. “Are you going to be all right here?” he asked him. 

Paul smiled. “Who’s the one who already fought in a war, Sam?” he questioned. Sam managed a small grin in response, and Charlotte furrowed her brow when she noticed, for the first time, a barely healed scar on Paul’s cheek. 

“What happened?” she asked, reaching up and running her thumb across it. 

Paul and Sam exchanged a quick glance. “I’ll tell you later,” her husband replied. 

“Well, I’ll tell you now,” Sam said, brushing Paul backwards with a sweep of his arm. “Your husband got whacked in the face by the end of a musket.” Charlotte’s eyes went wide and she gaped at Paul, who lifted his shoulders. Sam went on: “Thanks to the heroism of myself and Mr. John Hancock, he is still alive, so you can say thank you, if you like.”

“Samuel Adams, I can say thank you with all the gratefulness I have in my heart,” Charlotte replied. She glared at Paul. “What were you doing, fighting Redcoats on your own?” 

“They cornered me in the woods,” Paul said. “One shot my horse out from under me.” 

“You almost got shot?” Charlotte was appalled. She could feel the color draining from her face, and then Paul had his arms wrapped around her. 

“Hey, I’m all right, though,” he said, pressing his lips to her hair. “I’m fine.” 

Charlotte let out a breath, appreciating his familiarness encompassing her. She took in as much of it as she could and then nodded. “You’re fine,” she said, pulling back. She met Paul’s eyes and was immediately filled with so much love she didn’t know what to do with it all. As if she didn’t already have enough.

“Hey,” Sam said. They both managed to pull their gazes from one another, and looked at him. He was gesturing towards the command tent. “Let’s get some plans made before we leave.” 

“He’s right,” Paul said, turning his eyes back to Charlotte. “I’ll get the plans made and then come find you.” 

Charlotte nodded. “I’ll help Dr. Warren with something,” she said. Paul gave her a grin, and Charlotte leaned up to kiss him. She then backed away, somehow, and watched the two of them duck into the command tent, smiling to herself. 

When they were out of sight, she turned and headed for the medical tent. If she was going to be here, she might as well do something useful. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well... good stuff happens next time on America Tries to Become a Country. So there's that to look forward too.   
> :)


	15. Up and Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sam, John and John head for Philadelphia, and Charlotte and Amos head for Charlestown.

The next morning, Charlotte, Paul and Dr. Warren got up at dawn with the three that were going to Philadelphia to help them put their saddlebags on their horses. When that was done, everyone exchanged their goodbyes.

Charlotte even let John Hancock hug her. A good luck hug, she supposed. 

Her goodbye with Sam was a lot more heartfelt. 

Sam approached her, and Charlotte smiled, trying to convey her confidence in him. “You’ll convince them,” she said. “I know you, and you know how to talk to people.” 

“Only when I’m lucky,” Sam answered, though he shrugged. “I don’t know; maybe I’ll be able to do something.” 

“You’ll write to me, won’t you?” Charlotte asked hopefully. “I mean, I don’t know how long you’ll be gone, but… keep us updated with what’s happening, all right?” 

Sam gazed at her for a moment, and then nodded, a grin of his own lifting the corner of his mouth. “I’ll write to you,” he said. “I promise.” 

“Good,” Charlotte said, nodding. 

“You sure you don’t want to come with us?” he offered for the third time that morning. “Philadelphia is actually a very nice city, and far away from all this madness.” 

Charlotte laughed. “I think I’ll stay here with Paul. I wouldn’t be of any use in Philadelphia.” Sam’s face fell in false sadness, and she gave him a pat on the shoulder. “You’ll be fine.” 

Sam caught her hand before she could pull it back and drew her into a hug. Charlotte giggled and wrapped her arms around him in response. “I’ll miss you, Char,” he said into her ear. 

“I’ll miss you, too,” she agreed softly. Sam pulled back and glanced towards where the other men were standing. They had their backs to the two of them. Sam turned his gaze back to her, and Charlotte furrowed her brow, knowing what he wanted. She spared a look towards her husband, and then at Sam. 

Quickly, she leaned up and pressed her lips to his. It wasn’t like a kiss shared with Paul, and it certainly wasn’t like the kisses she and Sam shared when they were piss-drunk. It was nice, though - he tasted like the apple he had just eaten - and she settled back down with a smirk. 

“A good luck kiss,” she whispered. “That’s the only one you’re getting.” 

Sam grinned. “I’ll remember it always,” he said, batting his eyes. 

“Oh, shut up and get on your horse,” Charlotte sighed, turning him around by his shoulders and pushing him towards the mare. Sam did as she commanded, and pulled himself up into the saddle. Both of the Johns followed his lead, and Sam winked at Charlotte before looking at Paul and Dr. Warren. 

“Get our city back,” he said. 

“We will,” Paul promised. 

Sam nodded, and then flicked his reins. The three travelers turned their horses and set off at a gallop down the road, headed for Philadelphia. Charlotte tilted her head and wrapped her arms around herself as she watched them disappear over the rise. 

“Well,” Dr. Warren said, bringing her out of her mind. “I guess we should probably send some boys to the other encampments and figure out what our situation is.” 

“Maybe move to a camp closer to Boston ourselves,” Paul added, sliding closer to Charlotte. She immediately leaned back into his chest, and Paul wrapped his arm around her waist. It was instinct. “Charlie?” 

“Mm?” 

Paul hesitated a moment before he said, “Are you going to be all right coming with us?” 

“Of course,” she said, frowning as she turned to face him. “I wouldn’t stay here without you. I left Boston so that we could be together.” 

“So, pointless question?” Paul guessed, and Charlotte nodded. “All right then.” He looked at Dr. Warren. “We’ll saddle a few horses and be on our way as soon as we put someone in charge here.” 

Dr. Warren nodded. “I’ll go get the horses saddled,” he said, turning and heading for the camp. 

“We’re going to the encampment closest to Boston,” Paul told Charlotte as they followed behind Warren. “It’s a mile outside the city, and our biggest. Militias from all over Massachusetts, Rhode Island, New Jersey and Connecticut keep arriving and setting up new camps.” He laughed. “I guess Sam was wrong; the first Congress did manage to do something.”

“Do we have the city surrounded?” Charlotte asked. 

“Not yet,” Paul answered. “We will though. Soon.” 

“What needs to be done?” 

Paul held the flap to the command tent aside for her, and Charlotte ducked into it. “We need to take Charlestown,” he said, following her inside. “We don’t know the Redcoat standing there, though, so we need to figure it out before we send a battalion.” 

“Mm.” Charlotte settled down into a chair, a thoughtful expression on her face. “So, we need to send someone in in order to scope it out, is what you’re saying.” Paul nodded, and she grinned. “Guess I have a job then, don’t I?”

Paul furrowed his brow. “What do you mean?” Charlotte’s grin widened, and his eyes grew. “No.” 

“Paul -” 

“Why would you think I’d send you into enemy territory?” he demanded. 

“Because I’m not a soldier that will get shot immediately?” Paul shook his head, and Charlotte sighed. “Paul, think about it for a moment. I can get into Charlestown without any questions asked.”

“I know that,” Paul muttered, bracing his hands against the table in the center of the tent, his back to her, “but that doesn’t mean I’m going to let you do it.” 

“Paul.” He didn’t look at her, and she stood, walking over to him. Gently, she wrapped her arms around him and leaned her cheek against his back. “Let me do this. I want to help.” 

Paul let out a breath as Charlotte slipped under his arms so that she was between them, her back against the edge of the table. She met Paul’s eyes, tilting her head, and somehow pulled a smile out of him. 

“I can’t let you go alone.” 

“No one will be safe if they come with me.” 

“Paul?” Dr. Warren came into the tent, Amos right behind him. Paul and Charlotte exchanged a glance as soon as they saw him, and Charlotte smiled at her husband. 

Paul frowned, but nodded and moved away from her. “Amos.” 

“Yes?” 

“Charlotte and I were talking - we need to figure out what the situation is in Charlestown, and she seems to think the best way of doing that is by sending her.” 

Amos frowned. “That’s not safe.” 

“I know,” Paul agreed. “Which is why I’m asking you if you’d go with her.” 

“Me?” Amos looked both pleased and confused. “Why?” 

“I would go if I could, but I need to get to the other encampments,” Paul explained. “Charlotte and I trust you, and I know you’ll keep her safe.” 

Amos’s grin grew. “Well, of course! I just… I don’t know how I’m going to do that. Won’t the Redcoats be suspicious?” 

“Sure,” Charlotte said before Paul could speak. “I think that I’ll be fine  _ in _ the town; I just need your help getting there and back.” 

“No,” Paul said immediately. “Amos -” 

“Don’t listen to him,” Charlotte inserted. “He worries too much.” 

Paul glared at her for a moment before he shook his head and looked at Amos. “Just keep her safe.” 

Amos nodded once, and Charlotte smiled at him. “I should dress more properly for a stroll into town, and then we can go, all right?”

\--

Charlotte decided horses would have looked suspicious, so she and Amos set out on foot, against the protests of Paul Revere. The road to Charlestown was fairly unused, and it was hard to keep from trailing off the dirt path into the surrounding grass as she and Amos made their way through the hills and down to the small water-bordered town. 

Amos was strangely quiet as they went, not his usual boisterous self, and Charlotte wondered what he was thinking about. She almost asked him, twice, and then decided it was his business, twice, and left him to his silent contemplation. 

She herself, though she hated admitting it, was thinking about Samuel Adams, and how much she regretted giving him the kiss he had silently asked her for. He would never let it live down, and each letter he sent her would mention it, she was sure. 

_ Oh, damn him _ , she thought sourly as she fumbled to tie the loose string on her dress sleeve. She had changed into the spare she’d brought in her saddlebag, so it looked like she was just going to be visiting Charlestown and not staking out the Redcoat standing there instead. 

Having Amos with her was a welcome downside to her original plan. He would have to hide somewhere before the checkpoint she'd have to go through to get into the city, and, with no trees in sight, she had no idea where he was going to plant himself. 

The walk to Charlestown took up a good amount of time. As they were getting within sights of the city, Charlotte decided to break the silence. 

“I don't know where you plan on hiding,” she started, “but I suppose you'll be able to manage something.”

“I would feel much better if you let me come into the city with you,” Amos said quietly, glancing at her. 

“Have you been thinking about that this whole time?” Charlotte asked him. 

“Yes,” Amos admitted shamelessly. “Paul asked me to keep you safe, and I want to do as he asked of me. I can't protect you if you're alone.”

“No, but you'll be doing a poor job of protecting yourself if you come into Charlestown with me,” Charlotte told him. 

Amos started to respond, but his words were drowned out by the sound of horse hooves on the dirt road behind them. Charlotte glanced over her shoulder to find a battalion of Redcoats riding towards them from Boston, and she cursed to herself. 

The riders pulled their horses to a halt after they had trotted around Charlotte and Amos for a moment. 

“Hello,” one of the Redcoats greeted. “What are you doing traveling? The roads are dangerous; colonial rebels are everywhere.” 

Charlotte looked over at Amos, wondering what they should say, if they should say anything at all. Amos was gazing up at the Redcoat who had spoken, eyeing the shiny pistol hanging from a holster on his waist. 

“It’s a good thing you came along, then,” he said after a moment. “If you would be so kind as to escort us the rest of the way to Charlestown, we would be in your debt.” 

The British soldier tilted his head at Amos’s statement. “Would you? And what are you doing traveling to Charlestown?” he queried, looking at Charlotte. 

“My companion and I, as you can see, are rather low on supplies,” she started. “We’re traveling to New York, and we wanted to get some things before we continued down the coast.” 

“Hmm.” The Redcoat definitely wasn’t buying the lie. “I see.” 

Charlotte was pulled back an inch or two by Amos as the Redcoat dismounted, his hand resting on his pistol once he’d hit the ground. He turned to them, glancing around at his fellow soldiers. 

“You wouldn’t happen to be coming from Boston, would you?” he asked Amos after a moment. 

“Concord, actually,” he answered. “We heard about the… mess that occurred a few miles out earlier this week, decided it would be better to get out of Massachusetts before something more serious happened.” 

“Right,” the Redcoat replied, nodding. “A plausible reason to travel.” He looked between Amos and Charlotte for a moment longer before he lifted his shoulders and glanced up at the Redcoat that had been riding closest to him. “Should we give them an escort?” 

“Perhaps we should check them for weapons first,” the other soldier replied. “Just as a precaution.” 

“Right,” the first said, turning back to Amos. “You can’t be too careful nowadays.” 

“Of course,” Amos agreed, looking sideways at Charlotte. She was watching the second Redcoat as he lowered himself down off his horse. He approached her as the first soldier tugged Amos away to search him separately. 

“You don’t have any weapons on you, do you, love?” the Redcoat asked her. 

“No,” she responded, her voice stiffer than she meant for it to be. “You shouldn’t even bother.” 

“Never pass up a chance to touch a woman, my companions like to say,” the soldier said simply. He began to pat her down, starting near her feet. “You have a lot of layers on,” he commented as he traveled upwards, one hand not-so-lightly grazing her rear. “Aren’t you a bit hot?” 

Charlotte scowled at him as he searched her waist and then her chest. When one hand squeezed her left breast, she decided he had crossed the line. 

Without any hesitation, she drew her knee up directly into his groin. The soldier let out a groan and staggered backwards, holding his front in one hand. Charlotte stepped away from him, only to get her arms pulled behind her back. 

“Hey!” she exclaimed, fighting against the soldier who had grabbed her as he struggled to tie her wrists with rope. 

“Shut her up,” the head soldier commanded from where he was doing the same to Amos. 

“Don’t you dare put that thing over my head,” Charlotte warned as the soldier she had kicked came towards her with a black hood. It looked like something that would be put on the head of someone who was about to be hanged. 

The Redcoat paid her no mind, and, without the use of her arms, Charlotte had no choice but to lose her vision as the hood was dropped on her head. She did, however, shout expletives at the Redcoats as one tossed her up onto the back of a horse. 

William Dawes watched and listened until the group disappeared over a rise from where he sat on his own horse at the top of a different hill. 

When they were gone, he let out a breath and turned his horse in the direction of the encampment Paul Revere was traveling too. He should have known something like this would happen the instant Paul had asked him to follow the two companions at a distance. 

“I’m definitely going to get blamed for this,” he muttered to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh-oh.


	16. Interrogation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Charlotte and Amos are questioned, and Paul plans to save them.

Charlotte pulled against the rope binding her wrists to the chair she was sitting in, struggling to loosen it just a little. Her struggles yielded to nothing, and she let out a worried breath. What were they going to do to her? Where was Amos? Oh, Paul was going to be so worried and angry. 

She was glancing around the small room for any form of a weapon when the door opened and a Redcoat strolled in. The markings on his coat revealed he wasn't any higher a rank than a major, and she decided then and there that he wasn't going to be getting any information out of her. 

The Redcoat smiled at her. "Hello, ma'am. I am Major Joseph Bennett. Would you like to tell me your name?" 

"Charlotte." She paused, but not long enough for him to notice. "Charlotte Mills." 

Major Bennett pulled out the chair on the other side of the table she was pushed in against and folded his hands on the wood, gazing at her. "Well, Charlotte Mills, I must admit that was very brave what you did on the road into Charlestown. Certainly, not every woman would go as far as to kick a British soldier in the area he values most."

"Oh, good," Charlotte said with a sigh. "Men do in fact think with their private parts. Thank you for clearing that up, Major." 

She saw from the look on his face that had been the wrong thing to say, but she didn't really care much. He wouldn't dare do anything to her. 

"Assaulting a British soldier is punishable by a hanging," he informed her after a moment of silence. "I'd hate to see a rope go around that pretty neck of yours." 

"Too late for that, isn't it?" Charlotte queried. "I already committed the crime." 

"Yes, but I have spoken to one of my commanding officers, and he said that if you were to give us information, we would only have to take you prisoner, rather than give you a death sentence," the major said. "I think that is a much better deal." 

"Yes, definitely," Charlotte answered. "Slowly waste away in prison rather than be killed immediately. Sounds perfect." 

Major Bennett was growing less and less amused each time she spoke, and she could tell. He stared at her a moment longer before sniffing and rising from his chair. Slowly, he came over to where she was tied down and slid a knife through the rope.

Charlotte brought her wrists around to her front and rubbed at them as he retook his seat, his eyes on her hands.

"I see you are married," he said as she rested them on the tabletop. He leaned across and gestured to her ring. "May I?" 

Charlotte hesitated a moment. "Will you give it back?"

"Of course." 

Slowly, she slid her ring off her finger and passed it to him. Bennett flipped it over in his hand and then held it up. 

"I'll always protect you," he said, his tone soft. "Interesting. Where is your husband?" Charlotte didn't speak, and Bennett raised and eyebrow. "Was he the one who was traveling with you?"

_ Amos _ .

"What have you done to him?" Charlotte asked.

"Is he your husband?"

"What. Have you. Done to him?" she repeated through clenched teeth. 

Bennett gave her a small smile, still holding onto her ring. "Let's make a deal," he started. "You tell me what you know about the rebel encampments around Boston, and I'll tell you about the man."

Charlotte stared at him, unflinching. "I don't think that's fair," she said. "I could know nothing about the encampments. How am I supposed to exchange information with you when I don't have any to give?"

Major Bennett leaned back in his chair, tossing the ring up into the air before catching it. 

"What's his name?" he queried. 

"You haven't talked to him yet?" 

"I figured we would talk to you first." 

"Why?" 

"Well, that's not very important, is it?"

Charlotte watched as he tossed her ring again. "May I have that back?" she asked as politely as she could. 

"In a moment," Bennett answered. He looked at her through the center of the ring, holding it up right to his eye. "It is fine work. Did you husband mention where he got it? I might like to get my own wife something similar."

Charlotte seethed. "The silversmith is not working at the current moment," she informed the major. 

"No, I wouldn't imagine so," he said. "Paul Revere, isn't it?" Charlotte glared at him, hating the sound of her husband's name coming out of the Redcoat's mouth. "I noticed his shop once or twice when I was stationed in Boston." 

"I would like my ring back, Major," Charlotte said. 

"How many encampments are there?"

"I don't know."

"How many men?"

"I don't know."

"Why were you coming into Charlestown?" 

"The man I was traveling with needed something, and with the multiplied amount of Redcoats in Boston, we didn't want to try and get in."

Major Bennett raised an eyebrow, lowering her ring. "How do you know about the amount of soldiers in Boston? No one has been in or out of the city in a week."

_ Shit _ . 

Charlotte fumbled for a believable answer. "It's not hard to imagine General Gage strengthened the guard after that attack in Lexington," she said after a moment. "My companion and I passed through there day before last. It sounds like it was a mess."

Major Bennett gazed at her without speaking for a moment. He then set her ring down on the table and stood, walking away towards the door. 

Charlotte didn't bother to stop him. She instead grabbed for her ring and put it back on her finger, watching as Bennett shut the door. She heard it lock, and then he walked off down the hall. 

Her hands were free now, at least. She glanced around once more, searching for a weapon of some kind. She didn't see one anywhere, however, and she was trying to decide how much noise she would make if she tried to smash her chair on the floor in order to get a leg off to use as a club, when the door was being unlocked again. 

She froze and watched the handle turn, and then Bennett was hauling Amos in by the hair. Charlotte let out a relieved breath when she saw he was relatively unscathed, and Bennett tossed him towards her. 

"Mrs -" Charlotte gave him a warning look with her eyes, and Amos shut up almost immediately. "Are you all right?" he asked instead. 

She saw there was a cut on one of his cheeks, and she assumed it was from the fight on the road. "I'm fine," she said. "Does that hurt?" 

Amos shook his head and avoided the hand that started to touch the wound. "I'm all right."

"Perhaps, now that the two of you are together, you may refresh one another's memories on the status of the rebel militia," Major Bennett commented as he closed the door behind him. He crossed his arms and watched them closely. "How many encampments are there?"

"How about instead of demanding information from us you go and find some on your own?" Charlotte demanded. 

"That is what I'm doing by speaking to you," Bennett said, settling down in his chair again. 

"I don't understand why you think we know anything about the rebels," Charlotte told him, rising from her own chair despite the look Amos gave her. "I already told you I don't know."

Bennett stared at her without speaking for a moment before turning to Amos. "I am afraid we have not been properly introduced. Major Joseph Bennett." He held his hand across the table, and Amos glanced sideways at Charlotte before shaking it. 

"Amos McNally." 

"Irish. I should have guessed," Bennett said. "And you are not married." 

"I never said we were," Charlotte reminded him. 

"My apologies," Bennett said. "I made an assumption based on the fact you were traveling together." He looked at Amos. "You were sent along to protect her, no doubt."

"I have a question for you," Charlotte said before Amos could answer. Bennett looked at her with a lifted eyebrow, and she leaned her hands on the table. "What do you know about the man who was flogged in Boston?" 

"Charlotte," Amos sighed, resting his forehead in his hands. 

"What do you know about this man?" Bennett said, tilting his head. 

"Nothing," Charlotte replied. "We heard about it." 

"Did you?" Bennett looked complacent. "How?"

_ Shit. Again. _

Charlotte decided she wasn't good at this.

“Answer my question first,” she said, doing her best to keep her face straight. 

Major Bennett watched her for a moment before leaning towards her, folding his hands on the table top. “He was taken captive by the British battalion that fought at Lexington and Concord,” he said. “They flogged him to show Boston citizens that we are not afraid of their little rebel army.” 

“One man scared a whole city?” Charlotte chuckled. “The last time a Boston citizen was flogged, the rebels started to gather munitions.” 

“Charlotte!” Amos exclaimed, his head shooting up. 

_ Shit. Thrice. Things really do come in threes, don't they? _

Bennett was grinning. “So, you do know a few things about the rebels then, don't you, Mrs. Mills?” he queried. “The question is… how?” 

Charlotte managed to keep her mouth closed, and Bennett rose from his chair. “The way I see it, you have two choices,” he began, walking around the table towards them. “You can tell me what I want to know…” He pulled out his pistol and pointed it at Amos’s head. “Or I can shoot him. Your choice, Mrs. Mills.” 

Charlotte looked from the Redcoat to Amos, who was gazing at her calmly. He gave her a subtle shake of his head, and her stomach heaved. She couldn't do this.

Swallowing, she looked at Major Bennett. “The rebels have camps set up all around Boston,” she began, her voice soft. “The biggest is the one a mile outside the city.” 

“What about their munitions?” Bennett asked, beginning to lower his gun. 

“They're short on gunpowder,” she answered, wincing when she saw the look on Amos’s face. “That's all I know.” 

Bennett smiled and slid his pistol away. “Would you like to tell me how you know all this?” he asked her. 

Charlotte glanced down at her ring, flinching. “I'm married to Paul Revere,” she whispered. “He's one of the men in charge of the rebels.” 

“Ah.” Bennett didn't sound surprised. “I should have guessed as much from the way you glared at me when I said his name before.” He dipped his head to her. “Thank you, Mrs. Revere. The information is much appreciated.” 

With that, the major turned and left the room, locking the door behind him. Charlotte sank down to the floor, covering her face with her hands. 

“Why did you do that?” Amos asked, his voice void of emotion. 

“I couldn't let him kill you,” Charlotte replied without looking up. 

“You just told him that we basically have nothing to defend ourselves with against an attack!” Amos exclaimed. 

“What was I supposed to tell him, Amos?” Charlotte asked weakly, lifting her head and glancing at him. “That we have a lot of munitions left? That would have given them reason to attack, too.”

“It would have held them off until more soldiers arrived on both sides, at least,” Amos told her. He shook his head and moved away. “And you told him that Paul is in charge. Who do you think they're going to try to capture now?” 

Charlotte’s entire being sank into itself, and she could feel tears beginning to surface. Quickly, she hid her face again to cover up her crying. 

Amos let out a heavy breath and came closer to where she was, crouching down beside her. “I'm sorry,” he started. “I shouldn't have said that.”

“But it's true, isn't it?” she managed through her sobs. “I've done something terrible, Amos. If something happens to him… to any of them… it'll be all my fault.” 

Amos simply gazed at her for a moment before he let out a breath and leaned back on his heels. “They'll be all right,” he started. “I doubt they'll give the Redcoats a chance to attack the encampment before they come and attack Charlestown.” 

Charlotte wiped at her eyes, feeling a bit ridiculous for having fallen apart in front of Amos. “We don't know what Charlestown looks like British-wise, though. Would they really risk an attack without knowing?” 

Amos gave her a look. “Did you forget that you're Paul Revere’s world?” he asked. “He won't leave you here no matter what the risk might be.”

Charlotte rolled her eyes, sighing. “You're right,” she said. “I just wish he wasn't so willing to risk everyone else for me.” 

\--

“They  _ what _ ?” Paul exclaimed when William Dawes finished telling him what he had seen from his perspective on the hill. 

“Charlotte kicked one, and they took ‘em prisoner,” Dawes finished, crossing his arms. “Your wife doesn’t seem to appreciate another man touching her chest, Paul. Guess that’s something you can be grateful for.” 

“Why didn’t you  _ do anything _ ?” Paul growled, only held at bay this point by the hand Dr. Warren had placed on his shoulder. 

“And gotten taken prisoner myself?” Dawes challenged. “If I had interfered, you wouldn’t have known  _ anything _ about the capture! The way I see it, you need to worry less about what happened and more about what you’re going to do to save them.” 

Paul fought Warren’s hand off his shoulder and started towards Dawes, but Warren grabbed the back of his shirt before he could start swinging. 

“He’s right!” the doctor started, holding tightly to the fabric of Paul’s shirt. “We’re lucky Dawes came and told us. Now we know that not only are Charlotte and Amos being held in Charlestown, but that the British regiment down there has just added six more soldiers to its original number.” 

“A number we don’t know,” Paul reminded him, his voice low as he continued to glare at Dawes. 

“We would know it if your wife hadn’t kicked the one she did in his valuables,” Dawes commented. 

Paul pulled once more against the grip Warren had on his shirt, but only succeeded in tearing it before Warren grabbed at his belt instead.

“Paul, stop,” his friend said. “Dawes did the best thing, and came and told us. Now, you have a decision to make. Do we go in Charlestown without knowing what we’re facing to get Charlotte and Amos back, or do we wait?” 

“We’re not waiting,” Paul answered immediately, turning away from Dawes and attempting to stalk towards the table in the center of the command tent. He and Dr. Warren had arrived in the encampment closest to Boston, but it was also the one furthest away from Charlestown, which meant Paul was far away from his captured wife. 

His captured wife, who had, admittedly, gotten  _ herself _ captured, but he was going to ignore that piece of information for now. Until he could get her back with him, at least. 

“Warren, how many men do we have?” 

“In this encampment?” Paul nodded. “I haven’t gotten an exact count, but with the three militias that arrived from Connecticut last night, I would say… two hundred or so?” 

“And there were six soldiers in the group that captured Amos and Charlotte?” Paul asked Dawes. 

“All on horseback,” he confirmed.

“There could be more in Charlestown,” Warren reminded them both. 

“We don’t know that for sure,” Paul said, gazing down at the map on the table before him. “Gage would have been smart to pull all his men back into Boston to protect the city…” 

“Ah, shit,” Dawes sighed. He reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a sealed letter. “I forgot all about this. I managed to nab this from one of the soldiers’ saddle packs when they weren’t looking during a piss-stop.” 

Paul glared at him as he snatched the letter from Dawes’s hand and then unfolded it. It was from Gage, with orders to the Charlestown Redcoat commander about how they were to vacate the town as soon as possible and make their way to Boston to help deal with the rebel rabble. 

Paul crumbled the letter up in his fist. “The group that got Charlotte and Amos must have been on their way to Charlestown to act as an escort back to Boston,” he said to the two others after a moment. 

“Which means there are soldiers in Charlestown,” Warren said. 

“But we still don’t know how many,” Paul concluded with a nod. 

“But we do know they were going to leave,” Dawes put in. 

“So?” 

“So… now that they have Charlotte and Amos… they may stick around a bit longer in order to question them,” Dawes went on, giving Paul a look. “And, because they’ll have their prisoners, they may learn something that will scare them.” 

“Amos and Charlotte wouldn’t -” 

“No?” Dawes queried, lifting his eyebrow. “Not even if the other’s life was threatened?” Paul didn’t have anything to say to that, and Dawes crossed his arms once more. “If the Redcoats in Charlestown know about how big our militia is, they won’t risk trying to get past us to Boston.” 

“So, you think it’s a  _ good thing _ if Charlotte and Amos give away information?” Warren asked, frowning. 

Dawes shrugged. “It could be. Without that letter I took, the Redcoats won’t know that the real goal of sending the group that took Charlotte and Amos was to get them out of Charlestown. They won’t leave, and we won’t have any disruptions from the Redcoats in Boston when we go in to save Amos and Paul’s lady fair.” 

Paul glared at Dawes once more as Warren began to pace. “If we were to use that to our advantage, we would need to go now,” he admitted after a moment. 

“Right, so help me get a crew together and let’s go!” Paul exclaimed, heading for the tent opening. 

“Paul, hold on,” Warren advised, grabbing for his belt again. 

“What?” Paul demanded. “My wife is being held captive in Charlestown and you want me to “hold on”? I’ll go in there on my own if I have to!” 

Dr. Warren glanced at Dawes for help. “You might end up having to go alone, Paul,” he said, stating aloud what Warren was thinking. 

Paul stopped trying to get away from Warren and looked over his shoulder at them both. “Why?” 

“If the others find out that Charlotte and Amos got captured because Charlotte couldn’t keep still…” Dawes looked over at Warren. “I don’t know, Paul. They just… might not see it the same way you do.” 

“She’s my wife,” Paul managed through his slowly growing anger. 

“Exactly,” Dawes agreed. “She’s  _ your _ wife, not theirs.”

“They have Amos, too,” Paul said after a moment. 

“Which is a plus, since everyone loves Amos,” Dawes agreed, “but… with all the uncertainty surrounding the Redcoat situation, I don’t know how willing the others are going to be when we’re very close to getting Boston back without Charlestown.” 

“The whole reason we’re in this mess is because  _ someone _ insisted we needed to take Charlestown,” Paul grumbled, turning his glare to Warren. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” the doctor warned. “I might end up being the only one willing to come with you to save Charlotte and Amos.”

“Fine,” Paul muttered after a moment of silence. “Let’s go tell the others what’s happened, and see if we get any volunteers.” 

“And if we don’t?” Dawes asked him. 

“Then I guess I’m going in alone,” Paul replied, pulling away from Warren and heading outside. He didn’t need this, not right now. 

_ Why did you have to get yourself captured, Charlie? _


	17. Rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Charlotte and Amos are rescued, and Kelly's rescue is discussed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maestro, puedo ir al bano?  
> Sorry, just a great YouTube video my friend showed me a couple of days ago. I'm getting a little worked up because finals start next week, and I'm worried about the very first one I have to take more than I'm worried about any of the others.  
> Anyhow, take this chapter two days early because I love you, and my friggin' Google Doc has so many pages I can no longer edit it on my phone.

Charlotte glanced up from her wedding ring as the door to the room she and Amos had been left in opened, and Major Bennett sauntered in, looking smug.

“Well, look at you two,” he commented when he saw that Charlotte was still sitting on the floor and Amos was in the middle of his eightieth pace across the room. “Bored?”

“What are you going to do with us?” Charlotte asked him.

“Well, the group that took you were supposed to bring us orders from General Gage, but the orders were misplaced somewhere between here and Boston.” Bennett frowned. “Which isn’t a good thing, since the paper could be found by anyone, and since we don’t know what we are supposed to do.”

“Don’t you think that General Gage would have wanted you to return to Boston?” Amos asked him without looking up from the floor.

“Maybe, but we can’t take you all the way back to Boston with the amount of soldiers we have, and the state most of them are in after the events at Lexington and Concord,” Bennett answered. “We might get ambushed along the way by rebels.”

Amos’s head lifted, and he glanced at Charlotte. She was already looking at Bennett, curious. “I thought that the battalion from Concord went straight back to Boston,” she started.

“Some,” Bennett agreed. “Others were so badly injured they came here to be tended too.”

Charlotte and Amos exchanged a look, and she saw their shared hope in Amos’s eyes. If the Redcoats weren’t in any position to fight, a rescue might actually be a success.

“Still.” Bennett was back to talking, and Charlotte turned her attention to him again as he settled down in one of the chairs at the table. “It isn’t as though Charlestown is a very important position. We would have lost it eventually, most like.” He eyed Charlotte. “What do you think, Mrs. Revere?”

“About…?”

“About the rebels possibly trying to take Charlestown?”

Charlotte glanced over at Amos, and he gave her a simple shrug in response. It was a question that needed to be answered, but what she said in her answer could very well give Bennett some kind of information that could threaten the militia.

She looked back up at the Redcoat. “Well, if it isn’t as important a position to hold as you say, then I don’t think the rebels would be much interested in having it, either.”

She didn’t look at Amos to gauge his reaction, but she hoped that her answer had been full enough that Bennett didn’t realize she had been very vague about how much she actually knew.

The major gazed at her for a moment longer. “I see,” he said at last.

Before either Amos or Charlotte could say anything back, there was a shout of alarm from somewhere nearby, and Bennett’s head turned in the direction of the door as Charlotte scrambled to her feet and hurried over to where Amos was.

“Hmm,” the major commented. “That’s not something you hear every day, is it?”

He stood and took a step towards the door as another shout rang out and there was a gunshot immediately followed by a second and then a third. If Charlotte didn’t know any better, she would have thought a war was breaking out right outside the door.

Bennett drew his own pistol and held it at his side as he stood before the door, eyeing it. Amos slowly wrapped a hand around Charlotte’s wrist and pulled her closer, sliding her behind him. Charlotte peeked out over his shoulder at Bennett, and watched as the major rested his hand on the door handle.

“You sure that’s a smart idea, Major?” Amos asked him.

“I am in charge of this garrison,” Bennett replied. “It is my duty to figure out what is happening.”

Before he could open the door, it flew inwards, knocking Bennett onto his rear. Charlotte let out a quiet moan of relief when she saw her husband standing in the doorway, William Dawes behind him.

Paul kept his gun trained on Bennett as he looked towards where Amos and Charlotte were standing. Charlotte saw immediate relief enter his eyes when he saw she was all right, and then his gaze turned back to Bennett.

“Good to see my wife is being taken care of,” he commented. “Of course, it would have been even better if she hadn’t been captured at all, but…” He shrugged. “Can’t always get a good ending, can we?”

“If I may speak freely, I would say that the fact she is still alive is a good ending,” Bennett said from where he remained on the floor. His pistol had fallen from his hand, and, when Amos saw his eyes dart over to it, he stepped forward and picked it up for himself.

Charlotte couldn’t believe what was happening. A minute ago, she had been a prisoner, and now her husband and his two friends had the upperhand. War really was interesting, wasn’t it?

“Charlotte.” Paul gestured her over with a flick of his head, and she began towards him, keeping a wide circle of Major Bennett as she did so. Once he had his arm around her waist, Paul stepped aside to allow Dawes into the room. “Tie him up,” he said. “Maybe we can use him as a bargaining chip to get Kelly back.”

“Good plan,” Dawes agreed, moving around to the Redcoat’s other side to do as Paul said. While he and Amos were preoccupied with tying Bennett up, Paul turned to face Charlotte and placed his hand on her cheek.

“Are you all right?” he asked her, his voice soft. Charlotte nodded, closing her eyes, and Paul let out a relieved breath before pressing a kiss against her forehead.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. Paul pulled back, and Charlotte blinked up at him. “You knew something bad would happen. I should have listened to you.”

“It’s all right,” Paul told her. “You’re safe now, and we have control of Charlestown.” He gestured towards Bennett, whom Dawes and Amos had pulled upright. “And now we have something that might get us Kelly back.”

“Let’s get the others and go,” Dawes said, leading Bennett out of the room with Amos right behind him.

“Others? There’s more?”

Paul grinned. “Oh, yeah. At least forty of the boys offered to help, but we only brought twenty.” He frowned. “We could have done it with ten, to be honest. The garrison here is in a sorry state.”

Charlotte nodded. “That Redcoat was telling us about how the badly injured from Concord and Lexington came here to get immediate help.” She grinned sheepishly. “I guess that if I hadn’t kicked the one, Amos and I could have figured that out on our own…”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Paul said. “You’re going to be in a lot of trouble when we get back to the encampment.”

He chuckled when Charlotte grimaced, and kissed her again, on the lips this time. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s go see what kind of provisions these Redcoats have for us.”  

\--

“Glad to see you’re all right,” Dr. Warren said when Paul led Charlotte into the command tent of the encampment closest to Boston. He then looked over at Amos and frowned at the cut on his cheek. “Do you need me to clean that?”

“Nah,” Amos answered, grinning. “It doesn’t hurt.”

Warren started to reply, but cut off when Dawes pushed their Redcoat prisoner into the tent ahead of him.

“What -?”

“We thought he might help us get Kelly back,”  Paul explained to Warren. “We just need to get the message to General Gage that we have one of theirs, and we want ours back.”

“Gage won’t give you a prisoner of war for me,” Bennett muttered around the Redcoat stocking someone had shoved in his mouth on the march back. Why he had it in there, still, Charlotte couldn’t guess. He could have easily spat it out a long time ago.

“I’m sure we can negotiate something,” Paul said. “Besides, I don’t want to waste provisions on you.” He looked at Warren. “How do you think we should do it?”

“A single rider wouldn’t raise as much alarm,” Warren suggested after a moment. “Send someone who knows how to talk, though.”

“Would a single rider be able to take care of him on their own?” Amos asked, eyeing the Redcoat as Dawes plopped him down into a chair and began retying his hands behind him.

“Well, he didn’t exactly try anything, and if we make sure he doesn’t have any weapons…” Paul tilted his head. “You wouldn’t cause a problem for us, would you?”

Bennett grumbled something, and Charlotte rolled her eyes before stalking over and pulling the sock from his mouth. “That wasn’t hard, was it?” she asked him, holding it up a moment, and then tossing it to the ground.

“I won’t cause any problems, but I don’t know if negotiations will go smoothly once we get to Boston. They may simply take your man captive,” Bennett said, glaring at Charlotte.

“Charlotte.” She didn’t look over at her husband, and Paul exchanged a glance with Warren. “Charlotte!”

“What?” she asked, turning her eyes to him.

“I know what you’re thinking, and the answer is no.”

“I can talk to them, though,” Charlotte said quickly. “I know I can!”

“Charlotte, we just had to rescue you from Charlestown. We wouldn’t even be able to touch you if you were taken prisoner in Boston,” Warren said gently. “I know that you could do it too, but I don’t want something else going wrong.”

“Who will be able to talk to Gage except for me?” Charlotte demanded.

“I will,” Paul said after a moment of silence.

Charlotte whipped around in his direction. “No. Absolutely not.”

“Charlie, I’m one of our best riders,” Paul said. “And I’ll be able to keep my head straight.”

“Are you sure about that, Paul?” Dawes queried.

“Are you offering to go instead?” Paul demanded.

“No, I’m just thinking about your temper, that’s all.”

“I could go,” Amos said softly. “I can’t… I can’t ride very well, but I can talk to people.”

“There’s not going to be an easy way of doing this no matter what we choose, unless we send two people,” Warren decided.

Paul glanced at Charlotte, and she looked down at the floor, crossing her arms. “All right,” he said after a moment. “Dawes.”

“Yes, glorious leader?”

“Would you be willing to ride with Amos to Boston?” Paul asked him, ignoring the obvious jab.

Dawes let out a breath. “I mean, I guess,” he said after a moment. “I do want Kelly back.” He lifted his shoulders. “When do we go?”

Charlotte shook her head to herself and stepped out of the command tent before she caught Paul’s response. She partially wanted him to follow her without answering Dawes’s question, but she knew he wouldn’t.

She walked away from the command tent and asked one of the men where Paul’s tent had been set up. He pointed her towards it, and when she got inside, she let out a sigh at the single, small cot in one corner, the only piece of furniture in the tiny space.

She started to go over to it, but heard her name called from outside. She poked her head through the flap to find Paul coming towards the tent, and she scowled before ducking back inside. Paul came in a moment later, and she turned away from him, crossing her arms.

“You know why I’m not letting you go,” he said after a moment.

“Because I can’t keep from getting captured?” Charlotte asked sourly.

“Charlie -”

“I get it,” she said, sitting down on the edge of the cot.

Paul remained where he was for a moment before stepping towards where she sat. He lowered himself to his knees before her and set his hands on either side of the cot beside her.

“Charlotte, look at me.”

She did so, but only after a moment, and he gave her his most defenseless look. “Do you know what I went through when I found out you had been captured? I was afraid I would never get to see you again.” Charlotte didn’t speak, and Paul moved one of his hands to unfold her arms. “I don’t think you understand just how much I would hate myself if something were to happen to you, sweetheart.”

“I hate being useless,” Charlotte muttered.

Paul drew his eyebrows together. “You’re not useless.”

“I am,” she said simply. “There’s nothing for me to do here, Paul. I wanted to go to Charlestown to try and help, but clearly, I can’t.” She shook her head. “I should have stayed in Boston like a good wife.”

“Charlotte…”

“You have enough to worry about without me here,” Charlotte went on. “I’m sorry I came, Paul.”

“Charlotte Revere.” She met Paul’s gaze, and he shook his head. “Don’t think for an instant that I wish you hadn’t left Boston to come to me.”

“Paul -”

“I would have given my left arm for you to have been here when we all met up after Lexington and Concord,” he said softly. “I…” He closed his eyes for a moment. “When Warren came and told me about the British going for Sam and Hancock, I… I almost said I couldn’t go warn them because I didn’t want to leave you.”

Charlotte gazed at him, and he looked up at her after a moment, managing a tired smile. “I couldn’t believe it when Amos came to tell me you had just ridden up to the encampment. I thought that he was pulling a trick on me, and I wanted to hit him for it.”

“Oh, but you didn’t hit him, did you?” Charlotte asked worriedly.

Paul shook his head. “No, I came looking for you because he’d made my hopes flare up so high that I needed to know.”

Charlotte couldn’t stand it. She leaned down and kissed him deeply, grabbing his sleeves in her hands and pulling him upwards and towards her. Paul came willingly, and Charlotte leaned back on the cot, bringing him down with her.

Paul gently lowered himself down, making sure to keep most of his weight on his arms, which he rested on either side of her. Charlotte removed her hands from his sleeves and slid them into his hair.

Paul leaned back far enough to speak, although Charlotte struggled to follow him. “Promise me something,” he began, and she opened her eyes to see that he was giving her that look of his. “Promise me that you will never think I don’t want you with me.”

“I promise,” she answered immediately.

“Charlotte.” She once again stopped trying to reclaim his mouth, and met his gaze. “You are the most important thing in the world to me, and I want you to never forget that, no matter what.”

“Paul…”

“I love you.”

Charlotte’s heart ached when she heard the words come from him. She wanted so much to tell him the same, but she felt it would be better to show him she loved him instead.

So, smiling, she tugged Paul’s lips back down to hers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is also pretty short, so I'll probably post the next one tomorrow, just to make it seem like I posted really long chapter.   
> Meanwhile, my Jiminy Cricket is telling me to study for my Pre-Calc final.   
> Let me live my life, Jiminy Cricket. I have SoL fiction to post.   
> Love you guys. :]


	18. Advice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Kelly comes back to where he belongs, and Warren talks to Charlotte about something important.

Amos and William were gone for two days. And then a third. It wasn’t until mid-afternoon on the fourth day that someone caught sight of their horses galloping at full speed towards the encampment from Boston.

Paul and Charlotte were with Warren in the command tent, discussing the low amount of gunpowder, when one of the men came into the tent, grinning.

“They’re back,” he said.

That was enough. The three of them immediately stood and followed him outside. Amos was climbing down from the back of his horse, and Charlotte hurried over to where Dawes was helping a battered Kelly down off of his own.

Dr. Warren joined her, and Kelly gave them both a small grin.

“Good to see ya, Lottie,” he said, wincing a bit.

“Kelly.” Paul stepped forward, and Kelly beamed at him.

“Paulie. How’s the army leading goin’?”

“Oh, y’know,” Paul said, smiling back. “So-so.”

“Come on, Kel,” Warren said. “Let’s get you to the medical tent.”

Paul went right after them, and Charlotte turned to Amos and Dawes. “Thank you both, so much,” she said to them.

“It was nothin’,” Amos said with a big grin. “Just talkin’, that’s all.”

“Talking that took three days,” Dawes grumbled, patting his horse on the neck.

“Don’t worry, William,” Charlotte said. “You didn’t miss anything.”

Dawes merely huffed and led both his and Amos’s horses away. Charlotte winked at Amos once before going in the direction Warren and Paul had taken Kelly. She found all three in Warren’s tent, that also served as the medical station of the encampment. Kelly was seated on the wooden table Warren had pulled into the space, his shirt off and lying on the ground, bloody and torn.

Kelly himself was bloody and torn, and Charlotte winced when she saw the damage the flogging had done to his back. She went over to Paul and leaned into his side.

“I’m sorry, Tim,” she said softly. “If I had known you were in Boston, I would have tried to get you out of there the same time I left.”

Kelly cursed as Warren dabbed a cloth against his wounds. “It’s all right, Lottie,” he said through clenched teeth. “I got myself captured, and I didn’t give the Redcoats any reason not to flog me.”

“You give ‘em hell, at least?” Paul asked, grinning.

“You know I did,” Kelly agreed before cursing again, louder this time.

“Kelly!” Charlotte exclaimed, laughing.

“It hurts, Lottie. Please excuse my coarse language.”

“There doesn’t seem to be any serious damage,” Dr. Warren said, “but when these heal fully, you’re going to have some bad scarring.”

“Just a few new additions to the ones I already have, that’s all,” Kelly answered with a short shrug that made him cringe. “Dammit. Can’t shrug, not yet. There’s a nasty wound on my left arm you might want to look at, too.”

“I see it,” Warren agreed. “Gunshot?”

“A bad one,” Kelly said with a nod.

“I’ll clean it and wrap it for you,” Warren said.

“I’m glad you’re here, Kelly,” Paul started as Warren began to clean out the gunshot wound. “I need the judgement of someone who isn’t afraid of battles.”

“They ain’t afraid of battles, Paulie,” Kelly said. “They’re afraid to give ya their opinion.”

At this, Charlotte glanced up at her husband to gauge his reaction. He was looking at Kelly in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Amos and William were talkin’ a bit on the way back,” Kelly began. “Amos said that he doesn’t know what to say to you sometimes without you biting his head off, and Will seems to believe it’s because you like to think you’re right, and that you’ve been that way for a long time.”

Paul frowned, and pulled away from Charlotte. She watched as he headed for the flap of the tent, and didn’t realize what he was doing until he had gone outside.

“Dammit. Paul!” She hurried after him and grabbed the end of his shirt just as he began to stalk off. “Don’t,” she said when he turned and looked at her.

“Don’t what?” he asked. “I was just going to go thank Amos and William for bringing Kelly back.” Charlotte merely stared at him, and he let out a breath. “I know I’m not a leader, Charlie, but… if they have problems, the least they can do is tell me about them.”

“I agree,” Charlotte said, “but getting angry about it is not going to fix things.” Paul sighed, and she turned his eyes back to hers by placing her hand on his cheek and turning his head. “You  _ could  _ be better about your temper,” she went on with a smile.

Paul gazed down at her for a moment before he grinned as well and nodded. “Yeah, all right. You’re right.” He shook his head. “I hate being in charge.”

“I know you do, but you are, and you’re doing a swell job,” Charlotte informed him, to which Paul gave her a humorless laugh before kissing her. “Mm,” Charlotte hummed when he pulled away, “we should take tonight off and celebrate Kelly’s return.”

“Without Kelly?” Paul questioned, lifting his eyebrow.

“Well, I suppose I'm open to trying new things,” she answered after a moment.

Paul’s eyes went wide, and Charlotte laughed. “My goodness, Paul,” she said. “I was only kidding.”

Paul started to respond, but Warren came out of the medical tent before he could. “He isn't badly injured,” he started, “aside from the obvious. It looks like the Redcoats tried to heal him themselves, probably to keep him alive for questioning.”

Charlotte shook her head in disgust and looked at Paul. She winced when she saw the expression on his face.

“He's here now,” she reminded him quietly.

“He should have always been here,” Paul responded darkly. “This is my fault.”

“What?” That was not something Charlotte wanted to hear from him. “How could it have possibly been your fault?”

“I could have stayed in Lexington and helped,” Paul said. “I went to Barrett’s farm instead.”

“Paul.” They both turned towards the tent, and found Kelly poking his head outside. “What happened to me did not happen because of you.”

“I could have stayed -”

“And gotten yourself captured, too?” Kelly tilted his head. “No, Paul. You went to Barrett’s farm, and if you hadn't done that, perhaps none of us would be here.”

“He’s right,” Warren put in. “And… well, your wife would have had my head if I had had to tell her you had been taken prisoner.”

Charlotte pointed at Warren in order to emphasize his point, and Paul chuckled before brushing a strand of her hair behind her ear. “Fine,” he said. “It’s a good thing I didn’t stay in Lexington.”

“Thank you,” Charlotte sighed. She then looked at Kelly. “Are you hungry, Tim?”

“Ravenous,” he answered, beginning to grin. “What kind of food do we got around here?”

“War food,” she answered, “but it isn’t terrible.” She held onto Paul’s hand for a moment longer, giving it a squeeze before she strolled off to go find Kelly something to eat. Paul watched her go, sighing to himself a bit, until he noticed both Warren and Kelly looking at him with lifted eyebrows.

“Oh, shut up,” Paul grumbled.

“I didn’t say anythin’,” Kelly said. He looked at Warren. “Did you say somethin’?”

Warren held up his hands and shook his head. Paul merely huffed and crossed his arms. “Come on, Warren,” he muttered. “We need to figure out some kind of fortification for this place.”

“I would help,” Kelly said, “but uh… a pretty lady is fetchin’ me some food, so…”

“Yeah, yeah,” Paul answered dismissively, waving his friend off. “While Warren and I are busy making plans, you’re going to be waited on by  _ my _ wife.” He looked at Warren. “Where’s the fairness in that?”

“He  _ was _ a prisoner of the Redcoats,” Warren reminded him. Paul rolled his eyes and waved him along.

“Come on, Joseph, let’s go do our job.”

Dr. Warren winked at Kelly before following the grumbling Paul away towards the command tent, chuckling quietly to himself the whole way.

\--

Later on that evening, Charlotte was watching Dr. Warren mix something together in a glass bottle, his finger over the opening so that the liquid inside wouldn’t splash out.

“What is that?” she asked him.

“Just something to take away pain,” Warren answered, not looking up from the mixture, which he was pouring into a fresh bottle that was already partially filled with a liquid of the same color. When he’d poured it all, he set the empty bottle down and gazed at it for a moment. “Charlotte.”

“Hmm?”

“Do you mind if I ask you something?”

Charlotte turned around with a chuckle and leaned back against the table she and Warren were standing at, crossing her arms. “Depends on what it is, I suppose.”

Warren let out a breath. He rested his hands on the edge of the table, looking over at her. “Do you have a reason for coming out here?” he queried.

Charlotte lost her grin and furrowed her brow. “Of course. I came out here to be with Paul.”

Warren gazed at her for a moment, and then he nodded. “All right.” He went back to his work, leaving Charlotte to watch him in confusion.

After a moment of silence had passed, she turned and faced him fully. “Why did you ask me that?”

Warren raised and lowered his shoulders in a shrug. “Just curious, that’s all.” He stopped working again and glanced over at her. “Charlotte… don’t… don’t let Sam indulge in you, all right?”

“Indulge?” Charlotte asked, frowning. “What are you talking about?”

“I know what happened, before they left.” Charlotte’s eyes went wide, and Warren nodded. “I just… I know that Sam isn’t past whatever he’s felt for you for a long time now, and I don’t think that kiss helped any.”

“Joseph, I -”

“I know,” Warren interrupted, shaking his head. “I’m not going to say anything, to anybody, but… think about what you say to him in your letters, all right? That’s all I ask.”

Charlotte watched as he went back to his task, gathering new ingredients to mix together. He did it carefully, pouring specific amounts into a fresh bottle. Warren would then study the mixture before adding a new ingredient, like he was making sure he had added the right amount.

After a long silence had stood between the two of them, Warren glanced up from his mixture and nodded towards a bottle closer to her end of the table.

“Pass me that, would you?”

She did as he said, picking up the bottle and heading towards him. Warren closed his hand around the neck, but instead of giving it to him, she held onto it. Warren met her gaze, and she tilted her head.

“Why didn’t you tell him?” she asked quietly.

Warren let out a breath. “Because I trust you, Charlotte,” he said. “Don’t make me regret it, though.”

She held onto the bottle for a moment longer, and then she let it go, nodding. “All right.”

That was it. Warren turned back to his mixture, and Charlotte returned to her original spot down at the end of the table, watching him.

She should have known someone would see the kiss. It was reckless, and she had no reason to give it to Sam. She knew that it had probably convinced him to go to Philadelphia with Hancock and his cousin, at least, convinced him the tiniest bit more, but other than that…

“Dammit,” she sighed without meaning too.

Warren glanced up at her. “What?”

“I just…” She let out an annoyed scoff and shook her head to herself. “I don’t know what enters my head, sometimes, that makes me do things I know are just going to get me in trouble.”

“Sam has a way of… convincing people to do things,” Warren said after a moment. “He just looks at someone a certain way, and they do whatever he wants them to.” He shook his head. “Makes him a good rebel, but… a bad friend, on occasion.”

“He’s not -”

“Yeah, no, he isn’t,” Warren agreed before she could finish. He finished shaking the bottle and set it down on the table. “I don’t know what it is about Sam, but he doesn’t understand the word “no”.”

“Makes it harder to understand when I’m not saying it, though, doesn’t it?” Charlotte questioned, keeping her eyes on the table.

Warren gazed at her for a moment without speaking, and then he nodded. “I suppose so.” He looked down at the liquid he had mixed. “Which is why you shouldn’t let him indulge.”

“I don’t want to,” Charlotte said. “I really don’t.”

“So don’t,” Warren said. “Sam isn’t here to convince you to let him, and he can’t give you that look of his through a letter.” He glanced upwards and met her gaze. “Do whatever you have to to avoid it.”

“Are you saying I shouldn’t write to him?”

“No. I’m saying that you should be careful about what you write to him,” Warren responded.

“Charlie?” Paul poked his head into the medical tent, and grinned when he spotted her. “Kelly’s getting hungry. Thought you wouldn’t mind bringing him some food.”

“Sure,” Charlotte said, looking away from Warren and at her husband. “What does His Majesty want to eat?”

“Whatever you bring him,” Paul responded. “I told him not to be picky.” He then adapted a disgusted look. “I wouldn't call him “His Majesty”, though. You know how we all feel about the King.”

“Noted,” Charlotte said, managing a smile. “I’ll bring him something.” She glanced once more at Warren before she scooted past Paul out of the tent.

Paul watched her go, before he pointed at the doctor. “Don’t work too hard, Joseph,” he said.

“No promises,” Warren replied, and Paul chuckled, ducking back outside.

Warren gazed at the flap of the tent for a moment after Paul disappeared, and then he let out a breath and went back to his task.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a story about a thing that happened today, and I think it's share worthy because it's so "Friday the Thirteenth" bad luck that it's almost funny.   
> I was dress coded for the first time today. My shirt wasn't exposing anything, and the thin spaghetti straps were covered by thicker shoulders on the denim vest I was wearing.   
> Apparently, however, my "Belly was showing."   
> Yeah, okay. Screw you. It's Friday the Thirteenth bad luck day. Whatever. No big deal.   
> At least, it isn't a big deal until I see a girl walking around with exposed spaghetti straps and shorts that barely concealed her vagina.   
> I just wonder how administration at my high school picks out the students that they're going to give a hard time for the day, that's all. I hate it.   
> Anyhow, I'm outtie for another two weeks or so. See you then, and please wish me luck on my finals. Love you. :]


	19. A Game of Chess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which time passes while the rebels wait for the British to make a move.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'know, the title makes sense. Because of the waiting. For your opponent. In chess?   
> *sigh* It's my first day of summer break. Give me a break.

May-June, 1775

Time went by. Charlotte wasn’t exactly sure how much, but, according to the letters Sam sent her, he and his two companions had arrived in Philadelphia shortly after they had gotten Kelly back, but their congress wasn’t set to begin until a week after, on the tenth of May. Sam had complained profusely about the waste of time that was sure to follow, and in the second letter that arrived two weeks later, his same annoyance was included in his writing.

Charlotte wrote back, assuring him that the “time wasted” would yield to something that needed to be done, and that Sam would see that she was right in time. She told him that he needed to keep his mind on the goal of he, his cousin, and John Hancock, rather than on how the militia was doing with the siege of Boston. It wasn’t good for his focus, and if he wasn’t focused, he wouldn’t get anything done at all.

Between her letter and the third one from Sam that was sent to her, which Charlotte wouldn’t read until two weeks after it arrived, she found herself going back and forth between Dr. Warren’s medical tent and the command tent, wanting to be a part of as much activity as she could.

She learned a good deal from Warren, despite that they didn't have many men with war injuries to work with. Instead, he explained to her how to clean out a bullet wound, sew it up, and wrap it, in that order. He told her about infections, and how you could tell if one had started by discoloration of the skin near the wound.

“You'll have to amputate the infected area before it spreads.”

Charlotte had blanched at the thought of having to cut off a man’s arm or leg, and Warren had smiled at her expression.

“You won't ever need too, of course, but it's best that you know how it's done.”

“Right,” Charlotte had muttered in response.

Warren had then proceeded to show her how to cut off blood flow to the area being amputated with a belt or something.

“The amputation is pointless if he ends up dying from blood loss.”

Needless to say, Charlotte was fairly happy she never received a live demonstration.

One afternoon, June 4th, if she was counting right, she found herself in the command tent with both Paul and Dr. Warren. They had just finished eating their small lunch, and Charlotte was preparing to go check on Kelly when Amos came into the tent, a map rolled up under his arm.

She decided to stick around and see what he had to report before going to see Kelly, whom was under strict orders by Dr. Warren to remain in bed until he absolutely had no choice. Charlotte was positive poor Kelly was losing his mind.

“Amos,” Paul greeted. He rose and shook the young man’s hand before sitting back down.

“Mrs. Revere,” Amos said, bowing his head towards her. She gave him a smile in return. 

She and Amos had bonded quite a bit after their capture by the British. Charlotte knew that Amos looked up to her husband, and that knowledge pleased her to no end. She hoped that Paul realized it. 

Amos was also a good person to talk to if you simply wanted someone who would listen. He didn't interrupt with opinions unless you asked for them, and he often did have the simplest solutions to what seemed like big problems until he was spoken too. Needless to say, Charlotte cared for Amos just as much as she cared for Warren and Kelly. She wanted to see him grow as a soldier, because he had plenty of promise. 

Paul knew  _ that _ much, at least, because he trusted Amos with a fair amount of work and information usually only privy to general's and those who reported directly to them. 

Which was why Amos knew the answer to the question Paul was about to ask. 

“What’s our position?”

Amos unrolled the map he had with him and spread it out on the table, putting an empty glass on one side and a fork on the other to keep it from rolling back up. 

“You know that we have Boston surrounded,” he began. “Gage and his men still have control of the city, but now that we’ve cut off Charlestown… they can’t hold off much longer.” He met Paul’s gaze. “They’ll be coming for us.”

The month that had passed between his and Charlotte’s capture had given the militia time to prepare for this sort of thing. Men from other colonies around Massachusetts were continuously arriving, bringing some munitions with them, but not a lot. Charlotte knew that their army wasn’t very well suited for battle.

Amos was about to confirm her idea.

Doctor Warren paced behind Amos. “What’s the status of the militia?” he asked him.

“We’re growing every day,” he answered. “But these men are untrained, they’re unorganized.”

Paul stared down at the map for a moment, before leaning towards Amos across the table. “Can we withstand a full out British attack?”

Amos glanced over at Charlotte, a question in his eyes. She knew what he wanted to know; if Paul could handle the truth without getting angry. She nodded, once, and Amos looked back at her husband.

“A few charges, maybe, but a full-scale attack?” He shook his head.

Paul let out a breath and rubbed his forehead for a moment before he stood up abruptly and stalked out of the command tent. Charlotte remained where she was for a second longer, debating with herself, and then stood as well and went after him.

“Paul.” He stopped a few yards away from the command tent, his head lowered. She stepped up behind him and rested a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t be discouraged,” she said softly.

“It’s a bit hard not to be, isn’t it?” he asked.

Charlotte sighed and walked around to stand in front of him, taking his chin in her hand so that she could make him meet her eyes. “Listen to me,” she began, her tone growing stern. “You are going to lead these men to victory. We are going to win back our city so that I can go home and get new clothing. Do you understand?”

Thankfully, Paul granted her with a small grin, and Charlotte returned it. “Thank you,” he said. “I needed that.”

“You’re welcome,” she said, leaning forward and placing a kiss on his nose. “Now, are you done grumbling and pouting? Because, if we’re going to be attacked, we need to have a plan.”

“We do have a plan,” Paul responded. “We’re going to set up an encampment near Bunker Hill. Warren and I think that, if the British decide to attack, they’ll come through Charlestown.”

“Fortifying Bunker Hill would be smart, then,” Charlotte said, nodding. “It’s a high up position, and if we could hold the Redcoats back there, they wouldn’t be able to get past us to the rest of the encampments.”

“Exactly,” Paul said, grinning a bit. Charlotte was learning a lot. “We were just trying to decide when the right time to do that was. Apparently, though… now is the best time.”

“So what are we waiting for?” Charlotte asked him. She tugged on his hands. “Let’s gather everyone up and move out, leader!”

All right, so, maybe not  _ a lot _ ...

Paul didn’t budge when she tried to pull him along after her back towards the command tent. She looked back at him in confusion, and he shook his head.

“There’s a thing in war, Charlie, called “waiting for you enemy to make a move”.”

She huffed. “Gage hasn’t show his face in months! He’s  _ scared _ of us.”

“Or he’s buying time.”

“Buying time? How much time does he need to admit that there’s nothing left for him to do but attack?” Charlotte demanded.

Paul let out a breath and came closer to her. “He’s waiting for reinforcements, remember?” he started. “We have a pretty large number, even if we don’t have many weapons to hold them off. He may be wondering just how well an attack will actually go.”

“But… we’re not in that strong of a position ourselves,” Charlotte said slowly. “Like Amos said, the men that keep arriving aren’t trained, even though they add to our ranks.”

“I know,” Paul agreed, “which is why I’m not exactly happy.” His shoulders rose and fell.

Charlotte wanted to say something more, but she didn’t have anything. She simply stepped closer and wrapped her arms around his middle, hoping that was enough. She felt Paul chuckle before he hugged her back, resting his chin on the top of her head.

“Thank God you’re here,” he began after a moment. “I would have lost my mind by now if you weren’t.”

“Hmm.” Charlotte smiled against his chest. “That’s what I’m for.”

“Lottie!”

She groaned at the familiar Irish-accented summon, and Paul laughed again. “You signed up for this,” he reminded her.

“I don’t remember writing my name on any papers,” she grumbled in response, half-heartedly pulling away from him. “I guess I best go tend to our wounded Irishman before he gets mad.”

“Good idea,” Paul said with a smile. Charlotte turned and started to head towards Kelly’s tent, receiving a gentle tap on the rear before she got three steps away from her husband. She looked over her shoulder at him, raising an eyebrow, and he tilted his head. “What?”

“Do not,” she said simply, turning back around. Paul let her go, smiling to himself, and then he frowned when he remembered that he needed to get back to leading the militia.

“Dammit,” he sighed before stalking back towards the command tent.

Charlotte reached Kelly’s tent and found him sitting on the edge of his bed, trying to put on his boots.

“Kelly!” she exclaimed, hurrying over to him and yanking the boot from his hand.

“I can’t stand it anymore,” he said, scowling. “I’m going to get out of this damn bed and join the war.”

“You’re in luck, then,” Charlotte said, setting his boot on the other side of the tent before going back over to him and crossing her arms. “There is no war, not at the current moment.”

“Even if we’re not fighting, it’s still a war,” Kelly informed her. “Bring me my boot.”

“No.”

“Lottie, please?”

“Tim, Joseph said you have to stay in bed until you absolutely can’t.”

“Well, I  _ absolutely can’t _ ,” Kelly said grumpily. “I’m going insane. I’m hearing colors and seeing sounds.” He gestured to her. “Say something.”

“Kelly -”

“See?” He waved his hands around in front of his face. “The words are clouds. They’re attackin’ me!”

“Kelly, please think about this for a moment,” she said. “If you’re not completely healed, you might end up hurting yourself even more by walking around.”

“Lottie, listen. As much as I love annoying Paul by having you take care of me, I’m fine,” Kelly replied. She merely gazed at him, and he grinned. “Besides, I already talked to Warren about it.”

“Did you?” Charlotte wasn’t about to believe him. “So, you wouldn’t mind if I went and asked him?”

Kelly’s eyes widened, and then he chuckled nervously, reaching a hand up to scratch at the back of his neck. “That isn’t necessary, is it? I imagine he’s busy, with helpin’ Paul and everythin’.”

“That’s why you don’t want me to ask him? Not because he’ll tell me that he did  _ not _ give you permission to get out of bed?” Charlotte queried.

Kelly let out a breath. “C’mon, Lottie,” he said. “I’m beggin’.”

“I don’t exactly see you on your knees,” Charlotte commented.

Kelly sighed to himself and began to slide off his cot. Charlotte’s eyes immediately went wide and she held up her hands.

“Good  _ lord _ , Kelly, I was only joking!” He gazed at her, and Charlotte groaned to herself. “You won’t do anything stupid?”

“I just want to go to the command tent,” he answered earnestly.

Charlotte studied him for a moment longer, and then muttered to herself as she went and retrieved his boot. Kelly beamed at her as he accepted it, and then a good two minutes went by as he struggled to pull it on. When the fight was over, Kelly inhaled and then exhaled before holding out his arms.

“What?” Charlotte asked him, crossing her own.

“You’re not gonna help me?” Kelly demanded, frowning up at her.

“ _ You’re _ the one who wants to go to the command tent,” Charlotte said simply.

Kelly glared at her a moment longer before huffing. “Fine.” He then stood up so abruptly that he knocked his head against the top of the tent and stumbled backwards onto his cot.

Charlotte couldn’t help herself. She burst into laughter.

Kelly moaned and writhed about like a turtle stuck on its back as Charlotte doubled-over, her laughter turning into squeaks and snorts.

“It wasn’t that funny!” Kelly exclaimed.

“Y-yes it was!” Charlotte gasped.

“What in God’s name is going on in here?” Amos demanded, poking his head into the tent. “We can hear you all the way in the command tent.”

“Good!” Kelly shouted, struggling to sit up. “Paul! Your wife is a menace!”

“You don’t have to shout, Kel,” Paul said, scooting past Amos into the tent. “I’m right here.” He came over to Charlotte and slid his arm around her. “What did she do?”

“She got me stuck because she wouldn’t help me stand!” Kelly exclaimed, waving his hand at her. Charlotte, who was recovering from her laughing spell, wiped at her teary eyes and giggled a moment longer before she looked up at Paul, who was studying her with a raised eyebrow.

“Sorry,” she apologized. “I told him he shouldn’t get out of bed. We didn’t interrupt you, did we?”

“Not really,” Paul answered. “We aren’t exactly getting anywhere. It’s hard to plan when we don’t have a clue as to when or where the British are going to attack, if they even do.”

“Can someone help me sit up, please?” Kelly whined.

Paul and Charlotte exchanged an amused look before they both moved over to the cot and took an arm each. Together, they pulled Kelly into an upright position, and Charlotte gave him a gentle pat on the shoulder.

“Sorry I laughed at you,” she said, smiling.

Kelly waved her off and grumbled to himself as he curled up into a ball, turning so that his back was too the three of them.

Paul winked at Charlotte and then ushered both her and Amos out of the tent.

“Mrs. Revere!” All three of them paused and turned in the direction the voice had come from. A boy, he couldn’t have been older than seventeen, approached, his cheeks red from running.

“Letter for you, ma’am,” he said, handing it to her when he had reached them.

Charlotte thanked him and turned it over. Sam.

She looked at Paul, and, using his expression as a sign she should wait to read it, slid the letter into the bosom of her dress.

“I’ll read it later.”

She had every intention of reading it before she went to sleep that night, but she was distracted by something, and she forgot all about it. 

She forgot about it, at least, until the day of the first battle since Lexington and Concord.


	20. The Battle of Bunker Hill, and the Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the battle is fought and lost, along with a few other things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like this chapter is a good one to post on the day after Memorial Day.

June 17th-18th, 1775

“You're going back to the Boston encampment until I send for you,” Paul told Charlotte.

“Like hell I am!” she exclaimed, following after him as he began his second circulation of the newly fortified Bunker Hill.

The Redcoats had finally shown their faces three hours before, when they had pulled their ships up right along the coast near Charlestown. Paul and Warren had been right all along.

The rebels had set to fortifying Bunker Hill at once, all according to plan. Guns were set up, Warren was filling up gunpowder horns and handing them out. Each man had enough for maybe six shots all together, with an extra set of rifles waiting down the line.

Charlotte thought the system Warren and Kelly had come with was genius. The best shots would be directly behind the makeshift wall, firing, while the younger and less experienced would be passing them pre-filled guns. She saw no fault in it, aside for when the gunpowder ran out.

She wanted to at least stick in the closest camp, which had been set up on the side of Bunker Hill that didn't face Charlestown, but Paul was not budging.

“Charlotte, stop following me and go back to camp with Dawes,” he said firmly.

“I want to be here!” she exclaimed.

“You can't be!”

“I'm not going to get hurt -”

“You could, and that isn't a risk I'm willing to take.”

“Paul, I came here from Boston to be with you, so you could keep me safe. Isn't that the promise you made to me?” Charlotte demanded.

Paul halted in his walking almost immediately, and Charlotte watched as his composure collapsed. He then turned around and came to her, moving so quickly she didn't know he was there until his lips were against hers.

When he pulled back, he held her face gently in his hands and whispered: “I'm sending you back to the encampment near Boston in order to protect you from what's going to happen out here today. I won’t… I won't be able to concentrate on the battle if you're close by, but I will be able to if I know you're safe at the other camp.”

She gazed at him without blinking. “How am I supposed to know _you're_ safe?” she asked softly.

At this, Paul chuckled, and Charlotte didn't know whether to relax or get even more frustrated with him.

“You're just going to have to trust in my skills,” he told her. Charlotte started to shake her head, but Paul kissed her again before she could move away. “Hey,” he began.

She met his eyes again. “I love you,” he said, “and I promise you that nothing is going to take me away from you. Not today, not tomorrow, not in a year or five years, all right? But in order to make that true, I need you to promise me you will go back to the other camp and stay there.”

Charlotte looked at him for a long moment, weighing any possible arguments she could use at this point in her mind.

Not surprisingly, she had none.

So, she simply closed her eyes and kissed him again. “I promise,” she murmured, and Paul rested his forehead against hers for a moment before drawing back and placing a light kiss there instead.

“Thank you, Charlie,” he said when she opened her eyes.

“I need to go see Joseph and Tim before I go,” she told him.

“Of course. But right after -?”

“Right after I'll be on horseback and riding back to the other encampment,” she replied.

Paul smiled and nodded. “All right.” He leaned forward and kissed her one final time, gently. He was sealing his promise. “I'll see you soon,” he said, and then she watched him walk off.

Thankfully, she didn't have to look hard to find Kelly and Warren. Amos was with them, too, which she was grateful for.

Each received a hug and a kiss on the cheek. Amos blushed, Kelly brushed her away with a “Stop actin’ like you're never gonna see us again,” and Warren gave her a kiss on the hand in return.

“Stay safe, Joseph,” she said to him. “Don't do anything reckless.”

He smiled. “When have I ever been reckless?”

They both laughed, and she waved to all three before turning and walking towards where she knew William Dawes was waiting for her. He had a horse saddled, and he lifted an eyebrow when he saw her coming.

“Well, color me surprised,” he said, beginning to smirk. “Did you go without a fight?”

“What do you think, William?” Charlotte asked as he gave her a boost up into the saddle before climbing on in front of her.

“I think that you and Paul are a lovely couple, but you worry too damn much about one another,” Dawes told her.

“Oh, stuff it,” Charlotte sighed. She glanced over her shoulder as he directed the horse away from the fortified section of the hill and towards Boston. When she could no longer see it, she faced forward again. “They'll be all right, won't they?” she asked.

Dawes was quiet for a long moment. “Do you want the comforting answer, or the realistic answer?” he finally questioned.

“I don't imagine I'll be getting comfort from any answer you give me, even if it's one intended that way,” Charlotte admitted.

“Then I suppose I'll go ahead and say that we don't exactly have the odds in our favor,” Dawes stated bluntly.

“Anyone could tell me that, William,” Charlotte muttered.

“Do you want me to spin a tale of heroism and lucky charms instead?”

Charlotte rolled her eyes. “No, I don't. I don't foresee you being a very good storyteller.”

“So then don't ask me to tell you something good,” Dawes said simply.

“Can't you at least give me a little bit?” Charlotte exclaimed.

Dawes thought about it for a moment, and then said, “If we’re lucky, the battle will be over in two hours, tops, and we won't have to be together beyond that.”

Charlotte snorted. “I suppose that _is_ a good thing.”

They reached the encampment a mile out from Boston thirty minutes later, and the next four or so hours were torture for Charlotte. She knew she was making William Dawes extremely angry with her never ending pacing, but she couldn't stop. She was too worried.

“That's it!” Dawes exclaimed, bringing her to a halt. “Please, if you're going to pace, go into a tent so I don't have to watch you, but I know where you are!”

“Why in God’s name did you take this job if you were just going to hate it?” Charlotte demanded.

Dawes stared at her with a scowl for a long moment before he simply grunted and turned away. “Believe me or not, but I do care about Paul, and I know he would lose his mind if something were to happen to you.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I figured I might as well help with taking care of you, to keep our valiant leader sane.”

Charlotte studied him for a second longer before muttering, “I'll go in the tent,” and doing so.

Once inside the one she shared with Paul, she did not continue to pace. Instead, she sank down on the edge of their tiny cot and put her head in her hands.

The movement gave her a sharp pain in her left breast, and Charlotte cursed, straightening up.

“What in the world -?” She withdrew a slightly damp letter from her bosom, faintly recalling the arrival of it two weeks before, and she rolled her eyes at herself.

“Of course.”

She opened it and began to read what Sam had written. He started by saying that nothing had yet come out of what he still called “this waste of time old men meeting”, but that the three Bostonians did have a new friend, a name Charlotte recognized.

Sam called Dr. Benjamin Franklin “interesting”, and admitted that he was good at speaking to people.

_Plus he likes to drink and bed women, which I can wholeheartedly relate too._

Charlotte giggled when she read this part, but then groaned to herself. Of _course_ Sam would have included that.

_We will see just how many Franklin can add to our little independence group, but as of right now, my expectations still remain very low._

_Tell Paul and Warren and Kelly that I miss them._

_-_ __Sam_ _

 

Charlotte sighed and folded the letter back over before sliding it beneath the pillow on the cot. She could put it with the rest later.

As soon as she had slid her hand out from under the pillow, there was the sound of shouts coming from outside the tent.

Charlotte immediately stood up and hurried outside, and let out a gasp when she saw the wave of rebels coming into camp, some carrying others, most bleeding or muddy or both. They all looked exhausted, and most collapsed once they were within the lines of tents, not caring where they were.

A few of the more seriously injured were shuffled towards the medical tent, but Charlotte was to preoccupied with looking for her husband to see if Warren was amongst them.

More and more men arrived, and Charlotte could do nothing other than stand with her arms around herself, watching and waiting, and worrying. Her fear grew with each dirty face that passed her. She had not seen any of them, Amos or Kelly or Warren.

Or Paul.

Charlotte could feel a sinking sensation in her stomach as the wounded and battered rebels coming into the encampment began to decrease in number. And still, she saw none of her boys, even as who she thought was the last men shuffled past her, barely avoiding brushing against her shoulder.

_No._

Charlotte inhaled, squeezing her eyes shut. It couldn't be, not this way. She couldn't have lost them all. She refused to believe it.

“Charlotte.” William Dawes approached her and gently touched her shoulder. “I'm sure they're all right. They could be helping to bring the dead back. That's all.”

He had a point. They were bringing the dead back. Of course that was what they were doing. She had no reason to start crying, not yet. Bringing the bodies would take time, and she had things to do to get through that time.

“Some of the men need you,” Dawes continued when her eyes opened and she turned to him.

“Right,” she agreed, only briefly wondering why Dr. Warren would have stayed behind to bring back the dead when he was clearly needed at the encampment. Charlotte quickly shrugged the thought away and marched towards the medical tent, ready to stitch up as many wounds as she needed too.

Her short time training with Dr. Warren was very valuable well into the night. She stitched up cuts, wrapped arms, and even set the leg bone of a rebel caught in a cannon blast back into place. By the time the sun began to rise, she was pretty sure she had healed at least three hundred men, if not more. She had lost count around two fifty eight.

The sun was halfway through the sky when she finally emerged from the medical tent, wiping blood off of her hands with a rag. She’d had to remove a bullet from one of the men’s shoulders, which definitely wasn't her favorite thing to do with the exhaustion she felt, and she probably should have tried to wipe her hands off before, but she hadn't had time.

Now, they were stained red with blood, and she had a feeling the blood wouldn't be coming out of her dress anytime soon, either.

She closed her eyes for a moment, almost prepared to fall asleep where she stood, but there were other things to do. She needed to find out if her husband had returned.

Charlotte tossed the rag into a basin of dirty linen nearby and picked up her skirt before hurrying past the tents towards where a lot of the men were simply lounging in the sun, some with their eyes closed and others sitting up and playing cards.

She glanced around, trying to spot any familiar face or bald head that would signify one of the boys had come back. Instead of finding someone, however, she heard a familiar voice instead.

“Charlotte!” Amos was picking his way past the snoozing rebels towards her, and she sighed in relief when she saw he was uninjured, miraculously. She grabbed at his shirt and hugged him tightly for a moment.

“Thank God you’re all right,” she said, pulling back. “Where’s Paul?”

“He was shot in the arm, but it isn't serious,” Amos answered. “Someone patched him up a couple hours ago.” Amos’s eyes darkened. “He needs to see you.”

Charlotte drew her eyebrows together. “Did something else happen?”

“Let her talk to her husband about it, lad.” Charlotte’s breathing steadied a bit as Kelly came over to them, his head wrapped in a bandage and a dark bruise coating his cheek all the way down to his chin. He blinked at Charlotte. “I'll bring you too ‘im.”

“Let’s go,” Charlotte agreed.

They made their way through the rebels towards an area Charlotte hadn't gone to look, and as they walked, she realized that some of the men were actually grinning and joking. She was confused. They had lost the battle, hadn't they? That's what all the injured men had told her, at least.

They found Paul being tended to by someone who wasn't Doctor Warren, which caused Charlotte more alarm than it should have. He husband was dirty, and had his arm up in a sling, but he was fully intact, and alive, so she had that to be grateful for.

She went over to him and dropped to her knees in front of him, taking the hand of his uninjured right arm. He didn't smile at her, but his eyes did fill with a bit of relief before his head bowed.

“Paul?” she asked gently when she realized he had begun to cry. Paul was _crying_.

_Oh Lord above, what's happened?_

“Warren jumped over the wall,” Paul managed, his voice barely more than a tiny whisper. “Right after he shot the bastard who shot me, right after he had called the retreat -”

Her husband’s words cut off in a choked sob, and Charlotte felt her heart stop beating entirely when she realized what this meant.

She looked up at Kelly and Amos. Amos was studying the ground, and Kelly squeezed his eyes shut before turning away as well.

Charlotte turned her attention back to Paul, who was shaking so hard she feared he would fall off of the bucket he was seated on. The man wrapping his arm had finished the job, and Charlotte helped Paul onto the ground, resting his head in her lap. She slowly, carefully, began to pick leaves and sticks out of his dirty hair.

“Amos,” she started quietly. “Be a lamb and fetch me a bucket of water and a rag.”

She heard Amos walk off, but she kept her eyes on Paul, aware of his shoulders beginning to go still.

“It's all right, my love,” she soothed, running her fingers through his hair as well as she could. “I'm here.”

Somewhere, deep inside her, there was a voice saying that she had to keep her composure. Paul needed her to be strong, to comfort him. She wasn't about to let her resolve crumble, not right here, and not in front of her grieving husband, and especially not after she had just spent the whole night tending to wounded, partially dead men without breaking once.

A few minutes passed, filled with only the occasional sob from Paul and the quiet talking of rebels nearby. Charlotte wasn't tuned in to their conversation, but she caught bits and pieces: “We held ‘im off!”

“Not for very long.”

“No, but did you see how many officers Salem shot down? There must have been at least six!”

“Those cannons did a number on ‘em.”

“We would have been shat on if Dr. Warren wasn't there, telling us when to fire them. A ball would have been wasted, no doubt.”

“We held ‘em off on open ground, two-to-one. We have a chance at winning this, boys.”

“We need more munitions first, but I think you're right.”

Amos returned with a small bucket and a rag, which he set down next to where Charlotte sat with Paul’s head in her lap.

“Thank you,” she said, taking the rag and wetting it in the water. “Paul?” He didn't acknowledge the fact that she had spoken, but he did shift slightly. “I'm going to clean you off, all right?”

She brushed his hair out of his face and began to scrub the grease and dirt off of his skin. She was using this as a way to keep herself together, focusing on washing him off rather than on the news of Warren. She needed too.

Another moment of silence passed by, and, as she wet the rag again, Paul whispered, “He looked _terrible_ , Charlie.”

Her hand hovering over the bucket, dripping rag sending water down her arm, she looked down at her husband for a moment and then up at Kelly.

He gestured over to Amos, who had walked off a few paces and sunk down in the grass. “Amos found ‘im.”

“A group of us stayed behind to move the bodies, so we could bury them,” Amos explained. “When we couldn't find Warren, I went looking…” He shook his head and covered his face with his hands.

Charlotte turned her eyes back to Paul. She had done a decent job of washing him off, and he was no longer crying. He was tugging strands of grass out of the ground, one at a time.

“I thought that… maybe… there was a chance he was all right,” he started. Charlotte was relieved to hear his voice was clear, all though, it was void of _any_ emotion, which worried her. “When we didn't find him at first, I thought that the Redcoats could have just taken him prisoner.”

“This could be better, then,” Charlotte said gently. “At least he won't be tortured for information.”

Paul’s hand rested against the ground. “He shouldn't have jumped over the wall,” he told her. “I don't understand what he was thinking.”

“He was thinking that you and the others needed time to get away,” Charlotte replied. “Dr. Warren was giving you time to retreat.”

“She's right,” Kelly said. “Joseph knew what he was doing, Paul.”

“He knew… he knew that he was going to get killed,” Paul mumbled. “How could he have not assumed when the man whose wife he had an affair with was on the opposing side?”

Charlotte frowned. “General Gage?”

“We think Gage killed him, and then had a few others mutilate his body so we wouldn't recognize him,” Kelly explained.

Charlotte wanted to cringe, but managed to keep a straight face all the same. She looked down at her husband.

“Do you want to go to our tent?” she asked him.

He was silent for a moment, and then he sat up, nodding. Charlotte rose to her feet and helped him up.

“If you need us -”

“Amos and I can take care of everything,” Kelly answered before she could finish. He nodded to Paul, who had started to shuffle away. “Take care of _him_ , Lottie.”

“I'm going to do my best,” she responded, and then hurried after Paul, taking his right arm. He glanced at her half heartedly, and then turned his eyes back to the ground.

Charlotte led him through the tents and wounded men to their own. Once inside, she set him down on the cot and made him lie down before sitting beside him.

Paul gazed up at the top of the tent without speaking for a very long moment, and Charlotte let him. He would say something when he needed too.

“Charlie,” he finally mumbled.

“Yes, my love?”

“If I lost Warren… then I could lose Kelly, too,” he whispered. “Kelly or Amos or… or you.”

“No,” Charlotte said quickly, reaching for his hand. She raised it to her lips and kissed it. “Never.”

“But I could,” Paul insisted. He looked over at his injured arm in its sling, and he raised it. “This is nothing compared to what I'll go through if something else happens.”

“Paul, stop,” Charlotte said sternly. “This is not how Joseph would have wanted you to be thinking.”

He rested his arm back on his chest and closed his eyes. Charlotte gazed down at him for a moment longer before she sighed to herself.

“I'm sorry.”

She looked over at him curiously, and Paul’s chest rose and fell. “I shouldn't be acting like this. We… we have a mess to clean up.”

“Paul, you deserve all the time you need in order to mourn your friend,” Charlotte told him.

“He wouldn't have wanted me to mourn,” Paul decided, his voice low. He slowly sat up with Charlotte’s help. “We need to write to Sam.”

“I can do it,” Charlotte said gently.

Paul shook his head. “It should come from me.”

Without asking for her to help or follow him, Paul stood and walked out of their tent. Charlotte gazed after him for a moment before she allowed herself to cover her face with her hands and cry.

Dr. Joseph Warren was dead.

She cried to herself for a few minutes, the realization of all that had happened within the last twelve or so hours hitting her hard. So much blood, death, loss… how was she supposed to support this plan of Sam’s to claim independence if this was what they had to go through to get it?

Was it worth all the pain? All of the danger? All of the risk?

She forced herself to stop crying when she heard footsteps outside the tent, and she quickly rubbed at her eyes. She couldn't let anyone see she had crumbled.

“Mrs. Revere?”

“Come in, Amos.” He did, hesitantly, and she inhaled. “What is it?”

“Uh…” He trailed off and then rubbed the back of his neck. “I think you need to come get Paul.”

Immediately, Charlotte stood up. “What's wrong?”

Amos winced. “I think you should just come see.”

Almost afraid now, Charlotte followed him outside and towards the command tent. As they approached, she saw immediately what the problem was, and she sighed to herself.

Paul was standing stiffly in front of the table, a quill in his right hand, ink all over it. Kelly was a few feet away, gazing at him.

“I told you I can write it by myself,” Paul was growling when Charlotte and Amos got closer.

“Paul, you can barely hold the quill,” Kelly said gently. Charlotte was amazed; she hadn't known the Irishman had a soothing tone. “You can tell me what to write, and you can even sign it.”

“Paul…” Charlotte stepped towards her husband, and he looked over at her. She saw some of his anger fade, and his shoulders drooped a bit. “Kelly just wants to help,” she said.

“I already said I would write it,” Paul grumbled under his breath.

“You're handwriting might not be the most legible right now, love,” Charlotte started, deciding to take a different approach. “I know you can't write with your right hand.”

Paul stared at her for a moment before he lowered his gaze to the ground. “Fine,” he mumbled, offering the quill to Kelly. “Just write it to John, then. Tell him what happened, and that we lost Warren.” He started to walk away, shrugging past Charlotte's attempt to touch his shoulder.

He walked off without looking back, and Charlotte watched him go before looking at Kelly. “Have Amos help you write it,” she said. “I think I need to talk to my husband.”

She went after Paul and found him in the last place she had wanted him to go.

The empty medical tent.

He was standing in the center of it, his head bowed.

“Paul?” she began softly, stepping inside.

“Charlotte, I…” He trailed off. “I need to be alone for a bit.”

Charlotte felt a pain in her heart, but she knew that it wouldn't be fair of her to force herself on him if he didn't want her too.

“All right,” she said. “I'll be in our tent if you need me.”

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he answered quietly.

She turned and walked out of the medical tent with a bit of hesitancy. Once she was outside, she exhaled and headed for her own tent.

\--

June 20th, 1775

They buried Warren in his own grave, near Bunker Hill. It didn't feel right to bury him somewhere without some kind of meaning, and they couldn't exactly get into Boston’s cemetery. It was easy to get there; the British had chosen to move back into Charlestown rather than remain on the hill itself, and so it was open to rebel use once more. Charlotte had to wonder why the British hadn’t simply attacked Charlestown instead.

At the ‘funeral’, none of the men really had any prayers that they knew off of the top of their heads, so if someone wanted to say something, they did so. The group that gathered around the recently filled grave was smaller than Charlotte would have thought it would be, but maybe it was easier that way. She could let a few tears fall before wiping them away, rather than holding them in all together.

Paul was standing beside her, his eyes trained on the freshly turned dirt, no readable expression on his face. He had barely spoken in the three days since Bunker Hill. Charlotte was afraid to touch him, so she kept her arms crossed over her chest as she listened to what the men had to say about Dr. Warren.

As the rebels who wanted to speak began to dwindle in number, she glanced at Paul, waiting to see what he would do as soon as he had a chance to speak. Kelly was watching him as well, and he and Charlotte met eyes briefly before she lifted her shoulders. If Paul didn't want to say anything, she wasn't going to make him.

Kelly gave her a brief nod, and glanced down at Warren’s grave. “Dr. Warren was a good man,” he started. “We’ll feel his loss deeply, especially at a time like now, but he would want us to move on, to continue what we started even without his leadership.” He glanced upwards. “We’ll miss you, Joseph. Rest in peace.”

“Amen,” Charlotte finished softly, closing her eyes.

The men echoed her quietly, and slowly began to walk back towards the encampment. Soon, only Kelly, Paul and Charlotte remained. Paul was still gazing down at the grave, only now his eyebrows were furrowed and he was frowning.

Charlotte decided to risk it. She reached over and touched his shoulder gently, and he glanced over at her.

“I couldn't say anything,” he said. “I didn't know what to say.”

“It's all right,” she replied. “You don't need to say anything to show the others you’ll miss him, or that he was a good man. Everyone already knows those things.”

Paul nodded, and she dropped her hand from his shoulder. “I know that you need time,” she began quietly, “but… I feel like you haven't let me help you. Please, Paul, tell me what you're thinking.” He turned his eyes back to the ground, and Charlotte sighed. “That would be enough.”

He didn't move for the longest moment, and Charlotte glanced sideways at Kelly, only to see the Irishman had walked off a few yards, out of earshot. He must have sensed this was a conversation they needed to have alone, and Charlotte added another thing to the list of why Kelly was amazing.

Kelly watched Charlotte and Paul from where he stood. He could see her mouth moving, and then Paul’s eyes fall on Warren’s grave. Charlotte spoke again, and then they stood still, and it looked like they were in a painting, almost. Kelly waited, unaware that he was holding his breath. It then came out of him in a puff as Paul slowly reached over and took Charlotte’s hand.

He said something to her, and Charlotte nodded a bit, a tearful smile spreading across her face. Kelly watched as she wrapped an arm around Paul’s waist and pulled him closer to her. Paul rested his chin on her head, and they gazed down at Warren’s grave together.

They were still there when Kelly smiled to himself and turned, walking back towards the encampment. Charlotte knew how to help Paul more than any of them did, and Kelly was grateful Paul had her. She was certainly necessary, even if it wasn't entirely for the war effort.

Paul turned his head and pressed his lips to her hair, squeezing her hand tightly between both of his. Charlotte merely held him against her, her eyes on Warren’s grave. She hoped that the doctor was keeping an eye on them all, wherever he was.

“All right,” Paul finally said, sniffing. “We should get back to the encampment.”

“Sure,” Charlotte agreed. “Give me just a moment, and I'll follow you.”

Paul nodded, and he walked away from the grave, his head low. She saw him stop a few paces away, and she smiled to herself before she reached into the pocket on her dress and withdrew an apple.

Carefully, she stepped to the front of Warren’s grave and set the apple down on the spot where a headstone should have gone.

“Make it grow, Joseph,” she whispered, and then straightened back up. She walked over to Paul, and slid her hand into his. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RIP Doctor Joseph Warren. You could have done so much more if you only had time.


	21. Connections

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Charlotte makes a decision, and Sam makes one, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very tired, I am, and so there may be grammatical and/or spelling errors in this chapter.   
> I apologize.

June 29th, 1775

_ To the Fire of the Sun, _

_ I cannot begin to put into words how much I would rather be with you than in this cursed environment. Our attempts so far have seemed futile, and I do not know how to help. Our friend, Dr. Franklin, seems to believe that we can convince the other delegates yet, but I have little hope. _

_ I long to see you. I long to be on the battlefield, where I belong. The news of Warren’s death hit me hard - I admit that I have more than one thought of fleeing Philadelphia and returning to Massachusetts as quickly as possible. I considered traveling with George Washington, who is on his way to you to help, but I decided that would take far too long. _

_ I realize now that I have every intention of coming home. I am accomplishing nothing here. I know we had hopes of my persuasion skills working on these men, but they are not. My work lies not here, but with you and our army. I wish to come to Massachusetts and take my place as a soldier. _

_ I will. I will ride for Massachusetts at first light. As I ride into the sun, I will think of you and your beauty. I certainly hope you don’t show these letters to Paul. Of course, why would you? These are your private correspondences. He should not feel as though he has a right to your personal letters. _

_ All the same, I imagine that it has been long enough that he no longer worries about the two of us. Still, it would be a lie if I were to say that I did not wish for you on occasion. Even now, your good luck kiss still fills me with determination - _

Charlotte let the letter fall from her fingers as she stopped herself from reading before it could get any worse. Warren’s words were flashing like a lightning bolt in her head:  _ Don’t let Sam indulge in you _ .

Had she let him? Was that why he felt like he had a right to return to Massachusetts now? Had she given him some kind of sign that she wanted him back? If so, she had no recollection of it, and if there was something she had said, it certainly hadn’t been meant to bring him back.

As far as she knew, all of her letters had merely given him reassurance that he would get the Congress to agree to aid the rebels. She hadn’t tried to get him to come home whatsoever, at least, not intentionally.

So… why was he saying that now? He definitely couldn’t return, not after how long he had been there, and how close they might be to changing the minds of those at the Continental Congress. If anything, the rebels needed Sam to stay in Philadelphia now more than ever.

_ Hold on, consider a few things rationally for a second before you start panicking _ .

She forced herself to relax and think about it for a moment. If he had really left Pennsylvania, he would have arrived right after the letter, maybe a few days afterwards. Charlotte had just received the letter that morning. If Sam had not arrived in three days, she would assume he had remained where he was supposed to and was still trying his best.

And if he did arrive, well, she would just have to make him go back.

It had been two weeks since Bunker Hill. The rebels were slowly recovering, Paul included. Charlotte knew her husband was trying very hard to keep everyone else together, but she feared that he would never fully be able to lead them the way he had prior to Warren’s death, simply because he no longer had Warren helping him.

He did have Kelly, however. The Irishman was a saint; he seemed to know when Paul needed to be left alone, and when Paul was able to talk to him about something, whether it be about trying to find more munitions or simply about how much food each rebel would be eating that night.

The letter she had received from Sam (she had received a response alone; no reply had arrived from John Adams in regards to the one Kelly had sent) was a small beam of hope, at least.

Sam had said that George Washington, a Virginian who had fought in the war with the French, was very intense. That was the word he had used when he had told her about him after the first Continental Congress.

If he was as intense as Sam had said, and if he was coming to help, George Washington would be a gift from God.

Or… Virginia, she supposed.

She wanted to tell Paul help was coming, but Sam had done the idiotic thing of professing his love to her in the last three paragraphs of the letter, so she could not show it to her husband. He was dealing with enough as it was, without the possibility of his friend still being in love with his wife.

Charlotte glanced down at the letter, which she still had in her hands. Sam had addressed it to her, calling her “The Fire of the Sun”. He had said something similar the evening of her wedding, when he had compared his first wife Elizabeth to the shadow of the moon before comparing Charlotte herself to the fire of the sun.

She didn't know which was a better compliment, considering she looked at the sun only by squinting because it hurt her eyes.

Maybe the fire aspect was the compliment part. Fire was rather beautiful, she had to admit. Sitting beside it, warm and cozy, watching the images of the flames dance within more flames. You could make anything out of the flickering fire, not to mention that it kept a person warm, and grew rather wild if not kept under control.

Charlotte frowned as she took this into consideration, and then she looked down at the letter again. Sam had  _ definitely  _ been drunk when he had written it. There was no other explanation.

She heard footsteps on the grass outside her tent, and she quickly shoved the letter into her dress just before Paul poked his head inside.

“What did your letter say?” he queried. He had been right next to her when the courier had brought it to camp, and she didn't blame him for being curious. It was their first response from Philadelphia since the battle.

“Oh, you know,” she began evasively. “Just Sam being Sam.” She looked at Paul for a moment before deciding there was no reason not to tell him the only good news in the letter. “He said that George Washington is coming to Massachusetts to help.”

Paul’s eyes brightened almost at once. “George Washington?” Charlotte nodded, and he came into the tent fully. “When? Is he bringing more men? Munitions?”

“Sam didn't say,” Charlotte replied, the letter digging rather uncomfortably into her chest. “He only said that he had already left.”

Paul paced back and forth once or twice before he halted. “George Washington…”

“He was in the war with the French, yes,” Charlotte confirmed, seeing the recognition of the name on his face. “Sam told me about him before.”

“Did he?” Paul wasn't really listening to her, and she could tell. He was studying the ground, and Charlotte took the opportunity to pull out the letter and sit down on it before he glanced at her again.

“What?” she asked him.

“I hate to assume that his actions in the French and Indian War will reflect in  _ this _ war, but… I keep remembering hearing about the colonial aide-de-camp who couldn't do anything right,” Paul explained.

Charlotte considered this. She didn't have any prior knowledge of George Washington, so she couldn't exactly confirm or deny Paul’s thought. Still…

“Maybe he learned from whatever mistakes he made,” she said.

Paul glanced up at her, and smiled. “Maybe you're right.” He looked down at his arm, which was still in a sling. “Besides, if he's bringing more men and munitions, he can lead the whole army.” Paul came over to the cot and sat down beside her. “That'd be fine with me.”

“Would it?” Charlotte asked him, tilting her head.

Paul glanced at her, his eyebrows drawn together. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that… even if you complain… I think you're a great leader,” she answered, grinning.

“Thanks, Charlie,” Paul said. He wrapped his available arm around her shoulders and pressed a kiss against the top of her head. “We both know that there’re people out there who are better suited to the task.”

Charlotte nodded. “There are, but for right now, you're what we've got, and I think you're a pretty good fellow to have in charge.”

Paul let out a breath. “Warren was better, though.”

Charlotte winced. She should have known this conversation would turn to Dr. Warren somehow.

“You two did a wonderful job of leading us together,” she said gently.

“He could have done it by himself.”

“No, I don't think so.”

Paul didn't say anything after her statement, and the two of them were silent for a long moment. Charlotte couldn't actually feel the letter beneath her, but she could feel the strange sense of guilt it was giving her. She knew she should give it to Paul to read; it wasn't fair to keep secrets from him, and she could certainly dismiss Sam’s words by saying he was most likely drunk…

But would it be wrong of her to show it to her husband since it was Sam’s personal feelings that he most certainly didn't want shared with anyone but her?

Charlotte was still debating right and wrong when she realized Paul had moved away a bit and was looking at her.

She blinked. “What?”

“What else did the letter say?”

_ Damn. How does he always know? _

Charlotte shifted, the letter make a very obvious, if not muffled, crinkling noise beneath her.

“Just… Sam stuff. Complaining about how the Congress is going nowhere, how Dr. Franklin seems to think there's still hope… that kind of thing.”

“Ah.” Paul didn't say anything more, and just when Charlotte was sure she had narrowly escaped, she was suddenly slid over so quickly on the cot that she didn't know what had happened until she saw Paul snatch the letter from where it lay crumpled on the spot her rear had previously rested.

“Paul Revere!” she exclaimed, struggling to grab for the letter. Even with his injured arm, Paul was able to hold her back, keeping the letter away from her.

“Something in there you don't want me reading?” he asked. She heard the teasing in his voice, but she knew he would  _ not _ be teasing once he actually read it.

“Paul…” Charlotte gazed helplessly at the letter, not knowing what to do. She didn't see any way of stopping him from reading it, now that he had it in his possession.

“What's in here, Charlie?”

“Something that Sam probably wrote while drunk,” she answered earnestly.

“You think so?” Paul looked curious now, and he studied the letter. “Maybe I should read it to see…”

“Paul.”

“Hmm?”

“Don’t. Please.”

Paul glanced at her, his eyebrows drawn. Charlotte shook her head.

“You don't want to read it.”

“What did he say?”

“Paul…”

“What did he write in here, Charlotte?”

She scowled, and moved off the cot, walking away from him to the other side of the tent.

“You have the letter,” she muttered. “Read it for yourself.”

With that, she stalked out of the tent, her eyes burning with tears. She didn't understand why she was so upset. Maybe it was because she had indulged Sam’s feelings for her before he had gone to Philadelphia, and she felt guilty. Or maybe it was because she didn't want Paul and Sam to get into their own war over her. That was the absolute last thing they needed just then.

She headed for the medical tent to check on one of the rebels whose leg bone she had set. Charlotte had sort of become the unofficial healer of the encampment, since she knew how to clean wounds and dress them from the month or so she had spent with Warren, and after how well she had handled the injuries after Bunker Hill.

Her heart ached a bit at the thought of the Dr. Warren, but she shook it off as best she could. Mourning could be saved for later, when she didn't already have a lot on her mind.

She entered the medical tent and found the wounded man lying on Warren’s old cot, his leg propped up by a few blankets.

“How's the wound, John?” she asked, going over to check.

“Healing well, ma’am,” he answered. “Don't think I'll be losing the leg anytime soon, that's for sure.”

Charlotte smiled a bit at the comment and peeled away the bandage. It was healing rather cleanly, she saw. What had previously been a gaping hole that showed calf muscle and bone and stuff she didn't ever want to see again was now a pink patch of new skin that was a bit swollen.

At least it was no longer an open wound.

“Good,” Charlotte said, nodding to herself. “You’ll be hobbling around camp again within the week.”

“Thank God for that,” John said, sighing in relief. “I'm starting to understand why Kelly lost his mind a bit while he was on bed rest. It's awful.”

“I imagine it is,” Charlotte agreed, beginning to wrap a fresh bandage around his leg. John continued on to a new subject, and Charlotte only half paid attention, murmuring “Mhms,” every once in awhile.

She was really thinking about Paul, and wondering if he had read the letter and already had ridden off to Philadelphia to punch Sam in the jaw, or if he was still sitting in their tent, waiting for the right time.

When she was finished with John’s leg, she backed away, and he bent his knee a few times.

“Not too tight,” he said, grinning at her. “Thank you, Mrs. Revere.”

“It's my job,” she answered. “Do you need anything else?”

“Other than to get out of this tent?” She smiled in order to humor him, and John shook his head. “I'm all right for now.”

“Just have someone come find me if you get uncomfortable,” Charlotte said. “I'll help walk you around the tent for a bit.”

John nodded, and Charlotte ducked outside, blinking against the setting sun. Supper would be served soon.

“Mrs. Revere!”

_ Ah, Amos. Innocent and lovely. _

She turned to see him coming towards her from his shared tent with Kelly and William Dawes, shuffling a deck of cards.

“Do you know where Paul is?” he asked when he reached her.

“He was in our tent when I saw him last,” Charlotte answered.  _ Though he might be halfway to Philadelphia by now. _

“Mrs. Revere?” She glanced at Amos, not realizing she had looked at the ground, and he frowned. “You all right?”

“Yes…” His frown grew, and Charlotte sighed. “No.”

“What's the matter?”

“I don't know if I want to talk about it,” she told him.

Amos nodded at once. “I won't make you. I just don't like seeing you upset, because that usually means Paul is going to be upset, too.”

_ Upset indeed. _

Charlotte began to respond for real, but Paul’s voice cut her off.

“Amos, can I talk to Charlotte alone for a second?” he asked, coming up to them both.

Amos quickly nodded and glanced at Charlotte one more time before scurrying off.

She didn't look at her husband when she said, “So?”

“I didn't read it.”

Her head snapped in his direction, and he shrugged the shoulder of his uninjured arm. “It's your letter, Charlie. I don't want to… I don't want you to feel like I don't respect your privacy.”

“But we’re married. You're allowed to invade my privacy,” Charlotte said.

“I don't want too, though,” Paul told her. “It's a ridiculous thing to fight about.” He frowned. “If I didn't know any better, I would say you almost look like you  _ want _ me to read it, now.”

Did she? Charlotte pondered that for a moment. It was possible, she decided. It may be for the best, too, to tell Paul before things with Sam got extremely out of hand. She didn't know how much worse it  _ could _ get, but professing his thoughts about her in the way he did was already pretty bad. Paul deserved to know, simply so Sam would perhaps back off a bit.

She looked at her husband and saw he was waiting for her reply. She was about to tell him to read it, when she remembered the sentence Sam had written about the kiss _. _

_ Damn _ .

She couldn't let Paul know about  _ that. _ She had let  _ that  _ happen, and it was probably the cause of the rest of the things he had written. Not only would Paul be angry with Sam, he would be  _ furious _ with her.

She shook her head and managed to smile at her husband. “No,” she said. “Thank you for not reading it.”

Paul returned the grin, thankfully, and he held out his uninjured arm. Charlotte stepped into the embrace, relieved, and he slid the letter, which he was holding, into her hand.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“Don’t be,” Charlotte replied. “I shouldn’t have to hide things from you. This is… more for Sam, though. I’d hate to see you fight over me.”

Paul chuckled. “Then I suppose I should leave your letters to you, then, shouldn’t I?” Charlotte grinned at him, and Paul kissed her forehead. “Just don’t give him any encouragement for more of that, all right?”

Charlotte winced internally, but externally, she nodded. She had already encouraged Sam; the letter said as much. She had  _ known _ she would regret kissing him, even with how simple the kiss was.

_ Good lord, Samuel Adams, _ she thought to herself as she stepped out of Paul’s embrace.  _ The things I do for you. _

“Have you eaten today?” Paul asked her. Charlotte shook her head, and he sighed. “When are you going to learn to take care of yourself?”

“Hey, I’m not protecting or fighting anyone,” Charlotte told him. “The men need food more than I do.”

Paul frowned, his forehead creasing. “No,” he started, “that is not how this works whatsoever.”

Charlotte merely laughed and placed a kiss on his nose. “I'm not hungry, love, I promise.” She glanced around. “Are we going to prepare a tent for George Washington’s arrival?”

Paul shrugged. “I imagine he’ll find someone nearby who is willing to house him.”

Charlotte gazed at him. “Are you saying that, if we had asked, someone would have let us stay in their home?” she asked after a moment.

Paul smiled sheepishly. “Maybe?”

“Paul!” She gave him a smack on his good arm, and he fake-winced, stepping back a pace.

“Hey, you _ came out here willingly _ ,” he reminded her. “You might as well have gotten the whole experience.”

“Including bugs crawling all over me during the night? Dirt and grass in my hair?”

“Soldiers have it rough,” Paul said simply.

“Didn't I just state that I am not a soldier?” Charlotte queried.

Paul tilted his head. “You not being a soldier has nothing to do with you not eating. It's your choice to starve yourself.”

“I'm not starving.”

“Charlie, I'm sure you've lost at least five pounds.”

Charlotte grinned. “You noticed! Paul!” She dramatically flung her arms around his neck and spattered kisses all over his face. “You're so sweet! I love you!”

“All right, all right,” Paul said, laughing. “Calm down.”

She gave him a final smack on the lips and then rested her head on his shoulder with a sigh to herself.

He was a perfect husband, and she did love him with everything she had. There was no space for Sam in there, and she needed to make that clear.

Standing with her arms around Paul, her head on his shoulder and him holding her tightly with the only arm he had use of, Charlotte decided she would no longer send any correspondence to Samuel Adams.

It was best to cut off the connection now, before it only grew worse on Sam’s end.

\--

June 23rd, 1775

A week earlier, and two colonies away, Samuel Adams was, in fact, preparing to leave Pennsylvania and return to Massachusetts. He had just walked into the stables outside the city and was saddling his horse when there were footsteps outside.

He glanced up and found John Hancock standing outside his horse’s stall, gazing at him.

“What?” Sam asked, returning his attention to saddling the mare.

“What are you doing?” Hancock demanded of him.

“I'm going somewhere where I can be useful,” Sam responded shortly.

“You can be useful here -”

“Nothing is happening here.” John stared at him, and Sam buckled the saddle and straightened up. “We’ve been at this for weeks.”

“No,” John interrupted, shaking his head. “Your cousin, Mr. Franklin, me…  _ we  _ have been at it.  _ You _ have been no help at all!” Sam rolled his eyes. “Can you deny it? Have you  _ done _ anything to convince these men?”

“These men…” Sam let out a breath to relax before completing the sentence. “These men are all terrified. They're all just in it for themselves. They all  _ want _ something.”

“Yes, they do,” John agreed, “but you do not. I didn't understand at first, but now I do. All you want is for things to be fair, for everyone. If you leave, everyone else will leave. You have to stay and convince them.” Sam started to climb onto his horse, but John grabbed his sleeve and tugged on it to return Sam’s attention to himself. “You have convinced me!” Sam gazed at him, and John blinked. “A man with  _ everything _ to lose.”

Sam shook his head and began to climb onto the horse again. “Look at me,” John said stiffly. Sam halted, but did not turn. “Look at me.” Sam spared a short glance in his direction, and John began to search through his pockets. “I am broke. This… this is all I have left.”

He pulled a coin out of his pocket and tossed it to him. Sam caught it, and glanced down at it, a strange feeling entering his chest when he saw it was one of the coins used as a symbol for the smuggling ring that had begun all of this.

He glanced at Hancock, and saw he was watching him closely. “You're the only one with no agenda. You're the only one who can make these men hear the truth.”

Sam pulled himself up into the saddle and took the reins in his hands. John gazed up at him. Sam shook his head.

“Good luck,” he said simply, and began to ride out of the stall.

John stepped in front of the horse, one of the bravest things Sam had seen him do, and he planted his feet.

“We both know the real reason you're leaving, and we both know it's not a good one,” he said, meeting Sam’s gaze.

Sam stared down at him for a moment before rolling his eyes again and letting out a hoarse laugh.

“No.”

“ _ Yes. _ ” Sam started to shake his head, and John stepped right up to the side of the horse, grabbing onto her bridle with one hand so that Sam couldn't ride away. “Sam, you are  _ not _ hers, and she does not want you to  _ be _ hers.”

“John -”

“She does not need you,” Hancock went on. “And you should not need her.”

“I'm not going for her.”

“Aren't you? I've seen some of the things you write for her, about her.” John glared up at him. “If you go, she's going to send you right back, and you'll leave because  _ she  _ told you too.”

“John, she’s not… she isn't -”

“The fact you aren't finishing the sentence shows that you're lying,” John decided. “Charlotte does  _ not _ want you to go back to Boston. She wants you to finish what you started, and convince these men.”

“How do you know what she wants? Hmm?” Sam queried.

“Because I know that she does not love you the way you want her too,” Hancock answered. “She is married to Mr. Revere for a reason, Sam, and she will always be your friend, but, just like the rest of us, she needs you to stay here in Philadelphia and do what you said you would.”

Sam started to shake his head, but he stopped, frowning to himself. Was Hancock right?

He was, wasn't he? Charlotte didn't love him, and he shouldn't love her. He may have been wanting to return to Boston to help fight, but he also wanted to return for her. But, if John was correct, Charlotte didn't want Sam to return for her. She wanted him to stay in Pennsylvania and do the thing he had set out to do. She had said as much in her letters.

Sam would be stupid to ride to Boston, knowing that she would just send him back the way he came. He would return to Philadelphia with his tail between his legs.

Hancock was right - it was pointless for him to leave, even if Sam thought it was pointless for him to stay.

He let out a breath and closed his eyes for a moment before sliding down from the saddle. John watched him take both it and the bridle off of the horse before stepping up to Sam and placing a hand on his back.

“I know you love her,” he began softly, “but you need to let her go.”

“I've tried so many times,” Sam sighed under his breath. “She's just…”

“Come on,” John urged, leading Sam out of the stable. “You need a drink. Or three.”


	22. Here Comes the General

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which General George Washington arrives to take command.

July 2nd, 1775

The day George Washington arrived to take command, Charlotte was busy in the medical tent, helping John the wounded soldier waddle around the tent before she allowed him to go outside. 

And sweating. Sweating was a large portion of her activities.

“You know, I  _ can _ do this on my own,” John told her.

Charlotte chuckled. “I'm sure you could, but -” Her words cut off as loud shouting and whooping broke out from outside. Charlotte frowned in confusion before leading John back to the cot.

“Mrs. Revere! Don't leave me in here!” he exclaimed. “I want to know what's going on too!”

“I'll come get you when I know we’re not being attacked,” Charlotte answered, creeping across the tent towards the entrance.

“Doesn't exactly sound that way,” John commented as she poked her head outside. She was faced with a hoard of men running through the tents, hats off and flying in the wind from their hands.

One ran past where she was standing, and Charlotte grabbed for him, barely missing. Grunting, she stepped outside fully and stood, placing her hands on her waist.

Another man ran towards her, but skidded to a stop just before bowling her over.

“What in the world is going on?” she demanded of him.

“General Washington’s arrived!” he exclaimed. “Rode right up just outside of Charlestown!”

Charlotte blinked, and stepped out of his way to allow him to continue to run around like the others. She retreated back into the medical tent, and John tilted his head.

“What's happened?” he asked.

“Washington has arrived,” Charlotte responded after a moment.

John’s eyes lit up immediately, and he grinned. “Really? Where?”

“He rode up to the Charlestown camp,” Charlotte said. “Paul must have sent someone over here to tell everyone.”

Paul had gone to the Charlestown encampment earlier that morning with Amos to see how everything was going at there, with the Redcoats so closeby. She supposed things were going very well, now that Washington had come.

She crossed her arms over her chest and let out a “Huh”.

“What’s wrong?” John asked.

“Nothing,” she answered. “I think you can walk on your own now, if you want. Just don’t walk for too long, if you can avoid it, all right?”

John’s face lit up again, and he nodded enthusiastically. “Right. Got it. Thank you, Mrs. Revere.”

“Of course.” She moved out of the way of the tent entrance as he stood and hobbled his way outside. Charlotte followed him after a moment, and almost ran straight into Paul as he hurried towards the tent.

“Charlie! There you are,” he said, barely noticing that they had almost crashed into one another. “Come on, General Washington wants to meet you.”

Charlotte allowed him to take her hand and pull her along through the tents.

“Did he really come all the way here just to meet me?” she queried as they walked.

“No, he’s quartered himself in a house at the college,” Paul answered, “but I said I would bring you over to meet him.”

“I see,” Charlotte said, rolling her eyes.

As Paul pulled her along and got her onto his horse to take her to see the general, she mused over the thought of Sam, and how he hadn’t ever arrived in Massachusetts. Something must have changed his mind before he left Philadelphia.

Charlotte was relieved, to say the least. The last thing she needed was Sam showing up, asking her why she had only sent him one letter. Paul probably wouldn’t have approved of Sam’s arrival either, and she didn’t need a grumpy, recently-gotten-over-the-death-of-his-best-friend husband on her hands.

The ride to Harvard College took a good half-hour, and once they reached their destination, Paul pulled the mare they were riding to a halt and helped Charlotte down from the saddle.

She looked up at the house General Washington was staying in with awe. It was huge.

“He’s staying  _ here _ ?” she asked in amazement.

“I am.” She turned in surprise at the voice that spoke, and blinked up at the rather tall male that had approached. He was wearing a blue coat with golden buttons, and his hair was pulled neatly back into a ponytail.

Paul Revere gestured to him. “Charlotte, this is General George Washington.”

She managed a grin. “It is very nice to meet you.”

“Your husband said the same thing,” Washington commented.

“So… uh… you’re here to command the army, then?” Charlotte asked, brushing loose strands of hair behind her ears. She probably looked a mess; why hadn’t Paul told her this fellow was so clean and proper?

“Yes ma’am,” Washington agreed. “Congress appointed me commander-in-chief.” He offered her a smile. “I promise you that my first goal is to get Boston back.”

“That’s good to hear,” Charlotte said in relief.

“Come inside,” General Washington offered, turning to lead the way. “Mr. Wadsworth has offered the two of you a room to stay in, if you like.”

Charlotte looked at Paul, who merely gave her a playful nudge in response to the excitement in her eyes.

“I’m sure that you will want to discuss it a bit,” Washington was saying. “But, once you see it, it may make up your minds.”

Inside the house, Washington introduced them to Benjamin Wadsworth, who was the president of Harvard College, and the owner of the house. He seemed like a friendly fellow, and Charlotte had to admit his hair was a sight to see.

“We won’t be staying here for long, only a few weeks, if possible,” Washington said as he led them up the stairs and towards the room that Charlotte hoped to convince Paul to let them use. “I would like to move a bit closer to Boston, if I can.” He paused outside a closed door. “It’s a matter of finding a house to quarter in.”

He placed his hand on the door handle and turned it. Charlotte went into the room first, and let out a defeated sigh at the sight of the large bed that was pressed against one wall.

“Pillows,” she said dreamily, going over and grabbing one before hugging it close to her chest.

Paul and General Washington exchanged an amused glance. “I’ll give you time to consider it,” General Washington offered. “I have some business to attend to downstairs. Come find me when you’re done, and we’ll visit the other encampments?”

“Of course,” Paul said with a nod.

Washington dipped his head. “It was nice to meet you, Mrs. Revere.”

“You too, General,” she answered, burying her face in the soft pillow.

Washington chuckled and patted Paul on his shoulder before exiting the room. Paul crossed his arms and leaned against the door frame.

“Enjoying that pillow?” he queried, grinning.

“It’s  _ so soft _ ,” came Charlotte’s mumbled reply.

“Is it?” Paul stepped closer to her. “Should we see how squeaky the bed is?”

Without answering, Charlotte fell backwards onto the bed, which emitted no noise as she fell onto it. Paul smiled.

“So, the bed is appropriate to suit our needs…”

“Yes.”

“The pillows are soft…”

“ _ Yes _ .”

“And… you want to stay here?”

“Yes! Yes, yes and yes!” Charlotte threw the pillow at him, and Paul caught it easily.

“It is soft,” he said, squeezing the pillow between his hands.

“I  _ know _ .”

“I suppose we could stay here,” he said after a moment of pretend thought.

Charlotte beamed at him, and then smirked. “You want to… make it official?” she asked teasingly, beginning to pull off the boots she was wearing.

Paul lifted an eyebrow for a moment, considering the idea. “Well… it is customary, I suppose,” he said at last, turning around to close and lock the bedroom door. Charlotte giggled as he tossed the pillow back to her before following it to the bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, not the longest chapter, but I couldn't think of a clever title that combined this section and the next one together.   
> Everyone's gotta have their Hamilton reference, right?


	23. New Year's, and New Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which New Year's passes, Charlotte receives a birthday present, and Washington agrees to a meeting with General Gage.

December 31st, 1775-January 1st, 1776

Months passed by. Nothing happened, and Paul told Charlotte that the war was at a stalemate while the rebels tried to win Boston back. Charlotte didn't know whether to be relieved or annoyed by the fact that there was no moving forward. 

Well, they did move into a house closer to Boston, and there were repeated invitations to General Washington from Gage for a meeting to discuss things as the new year began.

They also captured more cannons for rebel use, but without any battle in which to use them, the cannons were sort of... useless. Paul’s friend from before the war, Henry Knox, had been the one to bring them to Boston from where they were captured in Ticonderoga, and he had said to Paul that the three day trip had been more of a struggle than winning the cannons. 

The New Year celebration was a nice way to forget that they were in the middle of a siege, at least. The men went into Concord and Lexington and other close by cities and spent the night drinking alcohol and playing cards and other things Charlotte chose to drown out when Amos told Paul about them later on.

Charlotte and Paul remained at the John Vassal house, alone. General Washington had gone with a few of the men he was closer with, and so they had the house all to themselves. Charlotte was perfectly all right with it.

Candles lit up only the necessary areas of the dark home, and Charlotte waited in their bedroom, propped up on her elbows, dressed in a sleeping gown. She didn’t think it was necessary to be wearing it, but she knew that the undressing was one of the parts Paul enjoyed the most, so she had put it on.

Paul himself was finishing up in the private washroom down the hall, letting out a breath as he gazed at himself in the looking glass on the wall. He wondered briefly how he should approach the situation he knew was waiting for him.

Charlotte leaned her head back a bit, closing her eyes. Paul was taking a very long time to get out of the washroom. She hoped he wasn’t having second thoughts about this; they hadn’t had a chance to be together for two months, almost. She didn’t see any reason why he wouldn’t want too, unless he wasn’t in the mood.

If that was the case, Charlotte would worry he was sick.

Paul made his way out of the washroom and headed towards the bedroom. Charlotte heard his boots on the floor, and she smiled to herself, leaning her head back further. The door opened, and Paul let out a laugh when he saw her position.

“Waiting, I see,” he commented.

Charlotte lifted her head, her hair coming up in a wave as she did so, and it landed across her shoulder as she raised an eyebrow at him. “Who, me?” she asked innocently. “I wait for no one.”

“No?” Paul began to unbutton his vest. “Huh.”

Charlotte frowned as she watched him start to undress. Usually, that was her job. Maybe he really wasn’t in the mood. She sighed to herself and relaxed onto the bed. Paul glanced over at her, finishing with the last button.

“Something wrong?” he asked.

“I just thought we would be celebrating New Year’s together, but…” Charlotte waved her hand in the air. “Don’t worry about it.”

Paul tilted his head, and leaned down to pull off his boots. When he was finished, he went over to the bed and climbed onto it, trapping her beneath him. He held his weight up on one hand and used the other to brush some loose hair out of her face.

“Not worry about it? You’re ridiculous,” he said, grinning. “I figured you wanted to do something.” He paused, and then reached towards the table on the side of the bed and opened the drawer on it, reaching inside and pulling out a small wooden box. "This first, though."   


“What is it?” Charlotte asked him.

Instead of answering out loud, Paul sat up, and Charlotte follow suit. They adjusted themselves so that Charlotte was sitting on his lap, facing him, and Paul held up the box.

“Happy birthday,” he said quietly, and Charlotte’s eyes widened before she accepted the box and opened it. She let out a quiet sigh when she saw the ring inside it, and she pulled it out. It was silver, of course, and the band was braided near the the gem, which was a beautiful green and cut into a diamond shape. It glimmered in the candlelight as she held it up closer to inspect it.

She lifted her eyes to meet Paul’s. “I’d thought you’d forgotten,” she whispered.

“About your birthday? Never.” He took the ring from her and slid it onto the middle finger of her right hand. “I made it before we had to leave Boston. It took a while, since I didn’t have a lot of spare time.” Paul grinned. “You have no idea how relieved I was that I finished it before Warren came to tell me about the British marching on Lexington and Concord.”

“That’s why you stayed up that night,” Charlotte said, looking up from the ring. “You wanted to finish it.”

Paul nodded. “I just had to put the emerald in place.”

“I thought you were finally tightening my wedding ring,” Charlotte admitted. “I found it right after you left.”

“Nah,” Paul said. “I finished fixing that a long time ago; I just forgot to give it back with everything that was going on.” He took the hand with the new ring in his own and lifted it to his lips. He then met her eyes, and Charlotte’s heart swelled at the gentle warmth in them.

“I love you,” she said, blinking.

“I love you too,” Paul answered. He then grinned. “So… how old are you now?”

Charlotte responded with a sarcastic laugh and then punished him for the question with a deep kiss. His lips were soft and perfect, and she swooned as his tongue made it’s way into her mouth, forgetting almost at once that she was punishing him. They leaned back, Charlotte on top of him and between his legs. She couldn’t stand how much she felt for this man sometimes. She had no idea what she would do without him.

They spent the night together, relishing in one another, and when they were done, they still did not sleep, but talked instead, Paul’s arm around Charlotte, and her head resting on his chest.

“Do you think Washington will agree to a meeting with Gage?” she asked him at one point.

Paul was quiet for a moment as he considered the question. “If nothing happens soon, he might,” he finally said. “I don’t see any reason why he wouldn’t, actually.”

“What do you think Gage wants us to do?” Charlotte queried.

“My guess is that he wants us to give him free passage out of Boston.”

“And do you think Washington will say yes?”

“I hope not.”

Charlotte adjusted so that she could see Paul’s face. “What if he does?”

“Then we’ll have Boston back, and you’re going home,” Paul responded, leaning forward to press a kiss against her forehead. “Should we sleep?”

“I suppose,” Charlotte answered. She scooted off of him to her own side of the bed, and Paul followed after her. Charlotte curled up in his arms, humming to herself. “Goodnight, my love.”

“Sleep well, Charlie,” Paul replied softly, hugging her close.

Mid-February of 1776, Washington decided to agree to a meeting, just like Paul thought he would.

“Is that smart?” Charlotte asked.

She, Paul and Washington were all seated in one of the sitting rooms of John Vassal’s home. Washington was holding the newest letter from Gage in one hand and a mug of coffee in the other. Charlotte was perched on Paul’s lap with her husband’s arms around her waist, and doing her best not to think about the letter she had gotten from Sam that morning, which she had refused to open.

It was one of the reasons why she had invited herself to the meeting between her husband and General Washington, as a distraction.

Washington set the note down on the desk he was seated at and took a drink of his coffee. “I think it’s time,” he said. “We’ve let him squirm in Boston for long enough. He’s realized that he’s outmatched, at least in his current position. He may have something to offer us.”

“Or he’ll ask for free passage from the city,” Paul grumbled to himself.

“Oh, he will,” Washington agreed. “There’s no doubt about that.”

“What will you say to him?” Charlotte queried.

“It depends on how the conversation goes,” Washington responded. He let out a breath and set his mug down. “Mrs. Revere, I am glad you decided to come to this meeting, for I have something I must ask you.”

She waited for him to go on, and Washington glanced at Paul before turning his gaze back to her. “I would like your husband to join me for my meeting with General Gage.”

Charlotte barely reacted. “Well… he would anyhow, right?” she asked, frowning. “He’s second in command, isn’t he? Sort of?”

Washington smiled at her question and looked at Paul. “Are you second in command, Mr. Revere?”

“Well, it was never formally stated, but I would like to think so. One of them, at least,” Paul answered with a grin.

“Well then,” Washington said. “I suppose you’re free to come along.”

“Obligated,” Charlotte corrected. She turned and faced her husband, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Be careful, though, all right?”

“Of course,” Paul replied.

She wanted to kiss him, but decided it wouldn’t be appropriate in front of General Washington. Instead, she nodded once and then climbed off his lap. “Are you going to write a response?”

“Yes,” Washington answered. “I’ll write for a meeting on Friday evening, in a place we both know.”

“Until then -?” Paul asked.

“Until then… plan for a march on Boston,” Washington responded.

“All right,” Paul said, rising from his chair. “I’ll go give the orders.”

“Mrs. Revere, stay for a moment,” General Washington said before she could follow her husband out of the sitting room. She stopped and turned around to face the General, who set his mug down on his desk and folded his hands in his lap. “I was told you received a letter from Mr. Adams this morning.”

“I did,” she answered, managing to hide her distaste at the reminder.

“Did he happen to mention anything about the progress of the Congress?” Washington queried.

“I haven’t read the letter, so I wouldn’t know,” Charlotte told him.

“I see.” Washington gazed at her. “You’ve received several letters in these past months.”

“I have.”

“Did you read any of those?”

“I did not.”

“I see.”

“Are you insinuating something, General Washington?” she asked him, refraining from crossing her arms.

“Not at all,” he said. “I was just wondering. If you would like to explain why you have not read any of the letters, however, _I_ would not argue.”

Charlotte gazed him for a long moment before shaking her head. “My reasoning for not reading my letters isn’t exactly your business.”

“You’re right, it is not,” General Washington said with a nod. “I apologize if I’ve offended you.”

“No need,” Charlotte assured. “Just… a sensitive subject, that's all.  _ I _ apologize for being short with you.”

Washington tilted his head. “It would be helpful if you were to read them,” he said after a moment, relaxing back in his chair. “Just so we know our position in Philadelphia.”

Charlotte bit down on her bottom lip for a moment. “I would read them, but… after something that occurred several months ago, I said I would cut off communication with Samuel Adams.”

“I see.”

_ Ooh, I need him to stop saying that _ , Charlotte thought to herself.

Aloud, she said, “If you want me to read it, I will.”

“I won't force you.”

“General, do you want me to read the letter?”

“I would appreciate it, yes,” Washington said after a moment.

“I'll be back in a few minutes, then,” Charlotte responded, heading out of the sitting him and up the stairs towards her and Paul’s shared bedroom.

Sitting on the bedside table where she left it was Sam’s letter.

She let out a breath before grabbing for it and snapping the seal on the back to open it.

_ Charlotte, _

_ Though I am certain you are ignoring me by now, I choose to write to you despite it, in order to answer any questions Paul or Washington may have about the Congress. _

_ To start with the obvious, yes, we are making progress. It's a slow process, but we are getting it done. _

_ As for how much longer we need, I cannot write down a definite amount - _

Charlotte finished reading the letter to make sure there was nothing revealing in it before she folded it over again. She then returned downstairs and to the sitting room, where General Washington was waiting.

She offered him the letter, and he raised an eyebrow.

“Are you certain?”

“I checked to make sure it was clean.”

Washington hesitated a moment longer before taking the letter. Charlotte waited as he read it to himself, and then took it back when he offered to her after he had finished.

“Thank you.”

“Of course.”

There was a moment of silence as General Washington took a drink of his coffee, which was, miraculously, still steaming.

“Does your husband know the reason you are trying to cut off communication with Mr. Adams?” he asked her as he set the mug back down.

“My husband is part of the reason,” Charlotte replied.

_ Don't you dare say “I see”. _

General Washington did not speak. Instead, he merely relaxed back in his chair once more.

Charlotte leaned forward on her toes and fell back on her heels.

“If that's all?”

“It is,” Washington answered. “You're free to go.”

“Thank you,” Charlotte said, and then quickly ducked out of the sitting room, clenching Sam’s letter tightly in her fist. General Washington could  _ definitely _ see into her soul. She was certain of it.

She said as much to Paul later that evening, as they were getting dressed for bed. Her husband merely chuckled in response to her statement.

“I’m not kidding, Paul.”

“I didn't say you were.”

“No, but you laughed.”

“Not in a teasing way.” She gave him a look, and it took all of Paul’s power not to laugh again. “Why do you think the General can see into your soul?”

“He just can,” Charlotte insisted. “I don't know how to describe it.”

“I think you're making things up to scare yourself,” Paul decided, pulling on his sleeping shirt. They had gotten new clothing from Concord at the beginning of the week, and all the men were sporting something new. Even Charlotte had a new shirt and vest combination that Paul liked seeing her in.

Now, however, she was sitting on their bed in a sleeping gown, holding a pillow in her lap. Paul climbed onto the bed next to her and lowered her down onto the pillow on her side, taking his own from her hands as he kissed her nose.

“You worry too much,” he said, kissing her lips and then rolling over to blow out the candle on the bedside table. The room fell into darkness at once, and Paul put his pillow on the bed before laying down.

Charlotte immediately placed herself in his arms. “I'm not worried at all,” she said. “Having a general who can read minds on our side is a good thing.”

“Wait, so is it mind reading or soul seeing?” Paul asked her.

Charlotte let out an annoyed huff. “That was definitely a tease.”

“You got me.” He placed a kiss behind her ear. “Get some sleep, Charlie.”

Shortly after, Paul was taking his own advice, snoring softly into her ear, but Charlotte was still wide awake. If Washington were to find out why she didn't want to write back and forth with Sam, he would tell Paul. That wouldn't be good at all.

She let out a breath and scooted further back into Paul’s chest. He curled around her a bit, his arms tightening their hold, and she closed her eyes against the darkness.

Washington wouldn't tell Paul anything, because there wasn't anything to tell. She had long since destroyed the letter from Sam that mentioned the kiss, and she rarely thought about it anymore, so it was safe from Washington’s prying gaze.

He would never know. Paul would never know. It would stay between Charlotte and Sam, and maybe, possibly, be forgotten once enough time has passed.

Comforted by the thought, Charlotte allowed herself to relax in her sleeping husband’s embrace, sighing a bit. She was happy to be with him, in the middle of a siege, with a possible return to Boston in the foreseeable future.

Everything was going to be just fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now I have to decide whether to mess around with "specified rankings" or change the ranking Paul had during his time in the Continental Army...  
> Huh.


	24. Revelations and Resolutions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dawes reveals something to Charlotte, and Charlotte and Paul resolve to do something else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You want a revelation, I want a resolution.   
> Not the line, but I'm pretending it is.   
> English is the worst goddamn language.   
> Also, I literally looked up days of the week for the month of February in 1776 to make this legit. The meeting didn't actually happen, but we can pretend that it did happened on Friday, February 16th, 1776.

Friday, February 16th, 1776

Friday approached rapidly after Washington received Gage’s agreement to meet, and soon, it was time for both the General and Paul to head off to the meeting place.

Charlotte plopped Paul’s hat onto his head and straightened his coat.

“Keep an eye out, all right?” she said. “If you don't, this could turn into a very short war.”

He gave his pistol a pat, and Charlotte nodded before wrapping her arms around him and hugging him tightly.

“Please be careful,” she murmured.

“We’ll be back before you know we’re gone,” Paul promised. He pulled Charlotte’s arms off his waist and held her away from him, studying her.

“If something happens while we’re gone -”

“Nothing will.”

“But if something does… do you have the gun I gave you?”

Charlotte sighed and nodded, turning around and lifting the back of her vest to reveal the pistol poking out of her breeches. Paul smiled at the sight and allowed her to turn back around.

“Satisfied?”

“I never will be with you,” he answered simply, and then pulled her in for a kiss. Charlotte was about to latch her arms around his neck when someone cleared their throat nearby, and they broke apart.

“Revere? We need to head out before we lose the light,” Washington said from where he stood beside the horses they would be taking.

“Right.” Paul gazed at Charlotte for a moment longer, and then he pulled away fully and headed towards the horses.

Charlotte remained where she was, arms crossed over her chest, and watched as Paul and General Washington rode away. It wasn't until they were out of sight did she turn to acknowledge Kelly, who had come up beside her.

“They'll be fine,” she said to him, though they both knew it was more for herself.

“I think so,” Kelly agreed.

She nodded and walked away from him, heading towards the house. She did not go inside, however, and instead walked around it to the back, where there was a nice view of the harbor. The water looked surprisingly blue in the late afternoon sunlight.

Charlotte let out a breath and reached behind her, pulling out the pistol Paul had given to her two months prior, after she had shot one for the first time.

“To keep yourself safe when I can't,” was what he had said.

The pistol itself was nice. Silver with little swirly designs as its mechanical parts, while the body of the gun was a dark, oak wood.

Charlotte placed her thumb on the hammer and her forefinger against the trigger guard before holding the pistol up, muzzle towards the sky. She then closed her eyes and leaned her forehead against the barrel, willing the thoughts of what might happen to Paul and General Washington out of her mind.

“Where did you get that?”

She started at the voice and, instinctively, whipped around, pistol pointed at the person who had spoken.

Kelly raised his hands in a gesture of peace, and Charlotte let out a low groan, lowering the gun.

“You're lucky I didn't shoot you,” she grumbled to the Irishman, returning the pistol to its place in the back of her breeches.

“Did Paul give that to you?” Kelly asked her.

“He did,” she responded, looking at him once her pistol was away. “Why?”

“Do you know how to use it?”

“I've shot it… once or twice,” Charlotte said, and then crossed her arms defensively. “Why?”

“It's useless to have a gun if you don't know how to shoot it,” Kelly answered with a shrug of his shoulders. “I was just making sure you had some knowledge, that's all.”

He turned and began to walk off, and Charlotte hesitated for as long as she could before calling after him, “Kelly, wait.”

He stopped and glanced over his shoulder at her. She walked towards him, pulling the pistol out once more. When she reached him, she held out the gun as Kelly turned around to face her fully. “Take it,” she said. “Please.”

“Why?” he questioned, frowning. “Paul gave it to you.”

“I'm never going to be able to use it.”

Kelly shook his head. “It wouldn’t be right of me to take the thing Paul gave you in order to protect yourself. He wanted you to have it.”

“I don’t want it.”

“Maybe not, and maybe you won’t ever use it,” Kelly started, placing his hand on the gun as well, “but clearly, Paul feels better with you having it.” He pushed the firearm towards her. “Keep it.” Charlotte sighed, but did as he said, beginning to put it back in her breeches. Kelly shook his head again. “Get a proper spot to put it, too.”

“Gun belts don’t exactly come in female size,” Charlotte said with a sheepish grin.

“I think I can find you somethin’,” Kelly told her, winking. “When I do, I’ll bring it to the house.”

“Thanks, but I think I’m going to take a trip,” Charlotte responded, beginning to walk past him.

“A trip to where?” Kelly questioned, grabbing the bottom of her vest before she could get too far.

“You don’t need to worry about that, Kel.”

“I think I do,” Kelly said, tightening his hold on her vest as she tried to pull away. “I can’t just let you go off on your own without knowin’ where you plan on going.”

“Just for a ride. I’m not going to go far,” she promised.

“Somehow, I don’t believe that,” Kelly said. He managed to turn her around to face him, and put his hand on her shoulder. “What’s your aim, Lottie?”

“I don’t  _ have _ an aim,” she grumbled. “I just want to go for a ride, get away from here for a bit.”

“Get away from here and go where?”

“I don’t know.”

“Don’t try to pull that on me.”

“Kel -”

“I’ll go with her.” Both of them turn at the sound of William Dawes’s voice, and Charlotte frowned when he walked over to where they were standing, giving her a side glance before looking at Kelly. “Keep an eye on her.”

“I don’t need you to keep an eye on me,” Charlotte informed him, shrugging Kelly’s hand off of her shoulder. “I’ll be back by nightfall.”

“Don't believe you,” Kelly said, and then looked at Dawes. “If you want to go for a ride, you’re taking William with you.”

“You can’t make me stay here otherwise.”

“You’re right, I can’t,” Kelly said. Charlotte smirked and started to walk away from them both. “But I don’t imagine Paul will be very happy to hear that you went off by yourself.” She slowed to a halt several yards away, and Kelly exchanged a look with Dawes. “I bet he’d be extremely upset.”

“You wouldn’t tell him,” Charlotte called over her shoulder.

“You want to place a bet on that, Lottie?” Kelly queried in response.

She let out a muttered curse. Kelly would tell Paul that she had left the safety of the encampment around the house, and Paul would get angry. She didn’t know what he would do, but she didn’t put locking her in their room to make sure she couldn’t leave past him.

But… she  _ did _ need to get out of the encampment. She needed to do something while her husband was gone, or she would go after him.

She supposed going out with Dawes was better than losing her mind at the house.

Sighing, she turned back around and stalked to them. “You won’t annoy me while we’re riding?” she asked Dawes.

He crossed his arms. “Depends on whether or not you annoy me.”

Charlotte glared at him for a moment. “Fine.” She then poked a finger into Kelly’s chest. “I expect a gun belt once I get back.”

“Sure,” he answered, grinning. “I’ll have one for you.”

“Good.” She gestured for Dawes to follow her with her hand, and headed off towards where the men kept the horses, aware of Dawes trailing after her.

It didn’t take long for them to get two horses saddled, and then they were off. Charlotte took the lead without speaking, riding out beyond the final line of tents and into the woods. Dawes kept close behind, and she spared a few glances back at him.

“Managing to keep up all right, William?” she finally asked, facing forward in the saddle.

“You’re not even giving me a challenge,” he answered.

Charlotte smirked to herself and gave her horse a nudge with her heel. The mare reared back and then flew forward, quickening their slow trot to a swift gallop. Charlotte grinned when she heard Dawes’s snort, and then the click of his tongue.

Two seconds later, he was riding alongside her. He looked over at her, raising an eyebrow.

“You call that a challenge?” he queried.

“Nah, I was just warming you up,” she responded. With that, she flicked the reins and her horse sped up again, leaving behind a cloud of dust in her wake.

Charlotte chuckled as her mare leapt over a log in the path, and she pulled her to a halt once on the other side.

There were only a few moments of silence before Dawes’s own horse cleared the log. Charlotte’s mare whinnied and tossed her head, backing away a few paces. Charlotte clicked her tongue and pulled on the reins to steady the mare.

Dawes smirked. “Spooked her, it seems.”

“Well, you did appear out of nowhere,” Charlotte said, leaning forward to give her horse a pat on the neck. She glanced towards the other rider. “Why did you offer to come with me?”

Dawes’s smirk disappeared, and was replaced by a frown. “I know how you feel, being stuck in the encampment or the house all the time,” he started. “I wanted to get out of there for a while, too. You happened to give me a chance to do so.”

Charlotte tilted her head as she took in her husband’s friend. He gazed back, his eyebrows coming together.

“Are you… looking at me like that for a reason?” he finally asked.

“I just won’t ever understand you, that’s all,” Charlotte said with a shrug of her shoulders.

“What is there to understand? I wanted to get out of camp, and you gave me an excuse to do so. It was a win for the both of us.” Dawes let out a breath. “You look too deep into things. Makes me wonder how Paul handles you, sometimes.”

Charlotte closed her fist tighter around the reins, and she diverted her gaze in order to keep from shooting off at the mouth. The last thing she needed was to start a fight with Dawes, especially since he was the one who had gotten her out here without the threat of her husband finding out.

Dawes sighed. “I'm sorry, Charlotte,” he began. “I don't need to be rude to you like that.”

“You really don't,” she agreed, not looking at him.

“It's just… I suppose I'm just a bit…” He paused. “All of the words I'm coming up with aren't what I'm looking for. Let me just say that I… I dislike the fact that you're here.”

“Well, that wasn't rude at  _ all _ ,” Charlotte said with a scoff.

“I mean that you being out here with us is dangerous, and a distraction,” Dawes went on. His horse trotted in a slow circle around Charlotte, and she had to swivel her head around to keep an eye on him. “You're all Paul thinks about.”

“That isn't true.”

“He might not show it when he's with you, but that's only because you're right there beside him,” Dawes said. “He’s worried about you whether you’re in a different room at the house, or if you're at an entirely different encampment.”

“If he worries about me when he can't see me, don't you think it would be much worse if I was in Boston?” Charlotte asked him. She was red, that much she could tell by the heat in her face, but she didn't know why she was blushing over the fact that Paul cared about her. Maybe it was because other people noticed and were bothered by how much of a distraction she was for their second-in-command.

She didn't feel guilty about it, though, did she?

Dawes lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “At least you wouldn't be around him. Paul is supposed to be leading an army, or helping, at least, and yet you're here, sitting on his lap during meetings with Washington, kissing him for two minutes at a time… it isn't just a distraction, it's making the others jealous.”

Charlotte received these words like a slap to the face and began to get what Dawes was saying. She  _ did _ bring a lot of Paul’s attention onto her during important things, didn't she? Even if she didn't mean to. Sitting on his lap during the meeting earlier that week had probably been enough to make him miss an important detail Washington had mentioned.

“Take Bunker Hill, for example,” Dawes continued, drawing her attention back to him. “I agreed to take you away from the battlefield because I  _ knew _ Paul wouldn't have been able to focus if you had stayed. It was more important for him to pay attention to his surroundings, rather than waste energy on wondering if you were all right.”

“Which is why you agreed to watch me,” Charlotte concluded.

Dawes nodded. “And… why I rode out with you today.” Charlotte looked at him, and he rubbed the back of his neck. “I sort of thought you were going to try to go after Paul and General Washington…”

“ _ What _ ?”

“Stupid, I know, but I also know that you're worried about ‘em, Paul especially.” Dawes met her gaze, lowering his hand back to the reins. “I didn't want you going after them and… giving Paul a distraction.”

Charlotte let out a slow breath. She was not going to let Dawes’s words get to her. They made sense, and it was something she needed to work on. But did he really think she would go as far as to try and  _ find _ her husband right before he and the general of the Continental Army met with the opposing British general? She certainly wasn't that stupid.

“Don't look at me like that,” Dawes said, seeing her scowl. “I realize now that my thought was stretching it a bit, but you can't blame me.”

_ No, I can't, even though I want too. _

Charlotte shook her head. “I think we should head back to the encampment,” she muttered, turning her mare around and directing her around the log rather than over it.

Dawes followed right behind, and picked up his horse’s pace in order to ride alongside Charlotte.

“You're mad.”

“I am not.”

“You're mad because you know I'm right about the distraction thing.”

Charlotte pursed her lips for a moment. “I'm not mad. I'm more annoyed that I didn't notice it myself, and had to have you shove it right under my nose in order to get me to see it.”

“Charlotte -”

“I know now that I should keep the public affection to a minimum,” she went on, cutting off whatever he was going to say. “I suppose I should thank you, though I don't want too, so I won't. You'll just have to enjoy the satisfaction of being right and bringing me down a notch.”

Dawes rolled his eyes. “Just as sensitive as your husband…”

“Oh, please. Paul may be sensitive, but do you see me crying about what you said?”

“No, but it's clear I hurt your pride.” Charlotte snorted, and Dawes grinned despite himself. “I did, didn't I? I pulled you off your little “I'm the wife of a leader” pedestal and brought you back to the reality the rest of us are in, and you can't stand it.”

“I'm going to ask you to stop talking before I lean over and push you off of your horse,” Charlotte said as calmly as she could.

“I want you to tell me that I did it, though,” Dawes pushed.

“Did what?”

“Brought you back to reality.”

“I never left.”

“You're a terrible liar, Charlotte. You have a husband here that would give you the moon if he could, and you have a man in Philadelphia who  _ still _ sends you letters even though you don't respond to them.” Dawes looked at her without flinching. “Tell me again that you didn't leave reality.”

“What does Sam have to do with this?” Charlotte asked instead.

“Sam? He's just an extra factor that once more proves what a distraction you are to  _ everyone _ ,” Dawes answered simply. “Face it, Charlotte: you don't belong with the army, and you should have stayed in Boston.”

“You're such a bastard,” Charlotte said. She could feel tears burning in her eyes, and she blinked them away, writing them off as a reaction to the wind in her face. She  _ was not  _ going to let William Dawes’s words get to her.

Not that she had much of a chance of ignoring the truthfulness of what he had said. She could try her hardest, but there was no denying that Dawes was right. And it hurt.

“I'm only telling you the truth,” he said simply, pulling her out of her thoughts. “Think of it as an attempt to help everyone.”

Charlotte ignored him, and the ride back to camp was spent in silence. Her realization of the truth of Dawes’s words grew worse every minute, as did the need to cry, but she forced the tears away. He could bring her “off of her pedestal”, but he would  _ not _ see her cry. She refused to give him the pleasure.

When they had reached the tents and returned their horses, Charlotte immediately rushed towards the house, her hand over her mouth to contain her sobs until she had some privacy. She ran up the stairs and into her room, closing the door behind her before she leaned back against it, her tears finally flowing freely.

_ I should have stayed in Boston. I'm a distraction. I don't belong out here. _

Each part of Dawes’s speech gave her another reason to cry, and she slowly slid down the length of the door until she was crouched at the bottom of it, her back pressed against it to keep from collapsing as she sobbed into her hands.

She let her emotions go without trying to rein them in for a very long while. It wasn't until there was knocking on the door that she realized she was in a place with other people, and that she had a composure to keep.

She had stopped crying, at least, and she hastily wiped her cheeks dry, knowing there was nothing she could do about the rest of her features. She stood up and opened the door.

Kelly was on the other side, beaming, and he held up a gun belt as soon as she opened the door.

“Told you I would find one,” he said proudly, offering it to her.

Charlotte managed a smile and accepted it. “Thanks.”

It was simple leather, and looked as though it had been worn before. Charlotte slipped it around her waist and notched it in the hole that suited her size. From the pressure she had to apply to get the little notch through it, she knew that Kelly had put the hole through the leather himself.

She pulled out the pistol Paul had given her and slid it into the holster. Kelly clapped his hands together.

“Now you're ready to shoot some Redcoats,” he decided.

Charlotte chuckled weakly, and it was then Kelly noticed her red eyes and pale face.

“Lottie? Were you… crying?”

She shook her head and sniffed. “I'm all right, Tim.”

“I'm here to talk to -”

“I’m  _ fine _ ,” Charlotte insisted, putting more force into her words this time. “Really. Thanks for the belt.”

With that, she closed the door, and Kelly stood outside the room for a moment longer, frowning to himself. He knew it wasn't his place to ask what Charlotte had been crying about, but he hoped that Paul would be able to cheer her up once he got back.

\--

It was pitch black when Paul Revere and General Washington returned to the John Vassall house on horseback.

Washington had talked with General Gage, and the end result was that the Redcoats were going to leave Boston freely, but Washington assured Paul that they were not going to go unfollowed.

Paul decided that was better than simply letting them go, but he feared that once the battalion in Boston met up with the reinforcements that were most definitely arriving from London…

He didn't know just when or where the reinforcements were going to arrive, especially now that there were not going to be any Redcoats in Boston. They had plenty of other ports to choose from, he supposed, though he didn't imagine Gage’s superior was going to be very happy when he learned Gage had lost Boston Harbor, and freely, no less.

Once the two men’s horses had been returned, they made their way to the house and crept inside. There was a single candle lit in the entryway, probably to supply them with some way of seeing, and General Washington gestured towards the stairs.

“We will discuss this more in the morning,” he murmured. “Go get some rest.”

Paul nodded his consent and went up the stairs, doing his best not to make any noise and disturb others who were sleeping in the house. Once on the second floor, he made his way towards his room. The door was closed, and when he pushed it open, he was surprised to find Charlotte sitting upright in bed, a candle on the table and a letter in her hands.

She looked up at his entrance and offered him a small smile before returning her gaze to her letter.

“You didn't have to wait up for me,” Paul started, closing the door.

“I wanted too,” she answered simply.

Paul began to remove the clothing he had worn to the meeting, feeling grimy from the ride through the woods. Once the clothing was in a pile on the floor, he looked at Charlotte again.

She had put her letter down on the side table and was watching him.

“Yes?” he asked, beginning to go towards the chest with drawers to get a shirt to sleep in.

“Don't bother,” Charlotte said from behind him.

Paul stopped, and then there were arms around his waist.

“What -?” He let out a chuckle. “Charlie?”

“Don't… don't talk,” she responded. Paul decided to go with whatever she had in mind, and closed his mouth. Charlotte’s hands snaked up his chest and rotated him around by the shoulders. Once he was facing her, she leaned up and captured his lips with hers.

Paul found himself following her willingly towards their bed, which is what he imagined was what the goal had been. He wouldn’t have argued, anyhow. Charlotte climbed onto it first, staying upright on her knees as she tangled her hands in Paul’s hair, pulling free the tie he used to keep it back and tossing it away.

Paul placed his hands on either side of her waist, grabbing for the bottom of the sleeping gown she was wearing. If he wasn't allowed to have barriers, he was going to get rid of hers.

In one motion, he pulled the gown off and lowered Charlotte onto her back on the bed, following after her. She let out a quiet whimper when he pressed against her.

“What was your plan, Charlie?” he asked. “Wasn't this part of it?”

In response, she attempted to reach down to remove his small clothes, the only thing left separating skin from skin.

She pulled, hard, and Paul winced when there was a rip. He looked at his wife, and found her trying to hide a smile by turning her head to the side.

“What're you laughing at?” he queried, his voice a low growl. “Hmm?”

“Nothing,” Charlotte answered, though there was an underlying giggle in the word. Paul used a hand to cup her chin and turned her face towards his. He leaned down and kissed her deeply, meaning to kiss the laugh right out of her.

Charlotte’s hands went to his shoulders, and Paul wriggled a bit to get the remnants of small clothes away from his hips. Once the fabric fell away, and he heard Charlotte giggle again through the kiss, he smirked to himself and pulled back.

“Still?”

“Sorry,” Charlotte said, snickering. “It… it isn't funny.”

“No,” Paul agreed, “it isn't.” He kissed her again, and Charlotte ended up leaning up to try and stay with him when he pulled back. “Do you -”

“Dammit, stop teasing and  _ bed me _ .”

“Such dirty words from my wife,” Paul said, raising an eyebrow. “I'll have to talk to you about that.”

“Later.” Charlotte’s voice was hoarse, like he had managed to kiss all the air out of her. “ _ Please _ , Paul.”

Paul leaned down and kissed her to mute whatever noise she would want to make as he removed the final distance between them. He felt Charlotte tense, and he removed his lips from hers and placed them on her neck instead.

Charlotte’s nails dug into his shoulders as she attempted to keep up with him from movements of her own hips. Paul smiled against her neck at the feeling; she was always trying to help.

“Charlotte.” He could feel her reaction to him saying her name, and he grinned again. “Let me do the work, all right?”

“Y-you -”

“Shh,” he soothed. He couldn't believe how quickly she was falling apart; this was definitely not a challenge. Charlotte was breaking willingly.

Paul wasn't arguing, of course. He was just surprised. Charlotte usually put up a fight.

He pulled away from her a bit and then pressed back. Charlotte’s nails dug deeper into his shoulders, and she leaned up, trying to reach his lips with hers. Paul, however, was starting to worry. She felt tense.

“Too much?”

“Not enough,” she answered. Her hands left his back, and Paul took the opportunity to lift one, and then the other over her head. He laced her fingers together and then held her arms against her pillow, kissing her deeply. 

She whimpered when he pulled away, and Paul let out a groan of his own. Years of marriage and he still didn’t understand how her small sounds were able to get such a response out of him.

“Charlotte -”

“Kiss me again,” she commanded, and, despite Paul very obviously able to refuse, he did as she said, because he wanted too.

“I love you,” he murmured against her mouth. “I love you, I love you, I love you…” He released her wrists, propping himself up on his hands on either side of head, and she slid her own hands into his hair again, pulling his mouth off of hers. “Charlie, I -”

“Yes, my love,” she urged sweetly, her voice no more than a whisper.

Paul hid his face in her neck to suppress his sounds, and Charlotte twisted her fingers in his hair, eliciting an extra grunt or two from him, much to her enjoyment.

Paul slowly drifted back to reality, and he lay with his head on her chest, his eyes closed. Charlotte’s fingers combed through his hair, damp with sweat, and she chuckled.

“I let you have me, and you still fell apart first,” she mused. “Interesting.”

“Don't make it a habit,” Paul mumbled back. “It isn't any fun.”

“Oh, don't tell me you didn't enjoy yourself,” Charlotte said with a roll of her eyes.

“I don't enjoy myself unless you do.” She snorted softly, and Paul raised his head to meet her gaze. “What was this all about, anyhow?” Charlotte lost her smirk. Paul’s eyebrows drew together. “What?”

“Can't a woman just… want to make love to her husband?” she asked.

“I guess.”

“So that's it.”

Paul didn't believe her. “Charlie?”

She let out a breath. “I… I'm going to pull back on the public affection, Paul,” she said quietly. “We’re going to have to make up for the loss in private.”

“I don't understand.”

“Someone told me earlier today that our affection for one another is distracting,” she explained. “They're right, and I want to fix it.”

Paul smiled despite himself. “Well, if you think I'm going to be less distracted if we do this all the time, you might want to think of a better plan.”

Charlotte wasn't grinning back. Clearly, it wasn't meant to be a joke.

“This is me being serious, Paul,” she said once his own smile had dissipated. “No more kissing, hugging, me sitting on your lap… it's all going to happen when we’re alone.”

“Why?”

“It bothers the others.”

“So?”

“And it keeps you from paying attention to important things.”

“That isn't true.”

“No?” She gazed at him. “Tell me honestly: if I had been at the Bunker Hill encampment during the battle, would you have been able to fight?”

“Well, no, but that's because I -”

“You would have been worried about me,” Charlotte concluded.

“That doesn't mean you're a distraction.”

“The fact that I take away your focus is the very definition of distraction.”

“There isn't a problem with me wanting to kiss my wife whenever I see her,” Paul said stiffly, beginning to sit up.

“No, but there is a problem with your wife keeping all your attention when there's bigger things to think about,” Charlotte answered. “Paul, look at me.” He glanced at her, and she reached for his hand. “I love you with all my heart, and I would never stop kissing you if I had the choice.”

“But you do.”

“No, I don't, because this war is bigger than the both of us and what we want.” She squeezed his hand, and Paul met her eyes again. “It's only for a while, and I'm not even saying we take it away entirely. Just in front of others.”

Paul gazed at her for a moment longer before he sighed to himself and bowed his head. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“All right,” he said quietly. “We’ll save the affection for when we’re alone.”

Charlotte smiled sadly and reached for him. Paul went to her, willingly, and they laid down together, this time with her head on his chest.

“Paul.”

“Mm?”

“Thank you.”

“For… what, exactly?”

“Agreeing to this. I know it will be a struggle, but, really, it’s for the best.”

Paul sighed, Charlotte rising and falling with his chest. “I don’t know how long I’ll be able to last,” he said after a moment, and Charlotte immediately caught on to the teasing undertone. “It’s going to be very hard to watch you walk past while I’m organizing rations and not pull you to me for a kiss…”

“I’m sure you’ll be fine,” Charlotte said with a roll of her eyes.

“We’ll see,” Paul murmured, wrapping his arm around her.

They did not fall asleep immediately; Charlotte wanted to know how the meeting had gone, and Paul valued her opinion on the matter, so he told her Washington’s plan. As he spoke, he could feel Charlotte becoming more and more relaxed.

“They’re leaving Boston,” she concluded when he was done.

“Yes.”

“That means… we can move back in,” she said.

Paul frowned to himself, grateful that she couldn’t see it. Still, he should have known better, because the relaxation he had felt in Charlotte’s body immediately evaporated as she stiffened. How did she always know?  

“We’re going back to Boston, aren’t we?” she asked, her voice low.

Paul let out a breath. “Charlie… I don’t know if I can.”

Immediately, she sat up and gazed down at him, her eyes narrowed. “What?”

“I’m a part of the army,” Paul reminded her. “I have a duty with these men.” He started to stroke her forearm with his knuckles to calm her down. “You must have known we would end up being separated, once we got Boston back.”

“I’ll come with you,” Charlotte decided.

“Charlie, you know that wouldn’t work.”

“It could,” she insisted. She grabbed the hand stroking her arm and held it tightly in her own. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“Didn’t I tell you before Bunker Hill that you never would?” Paul asked her. She bowed her head, and Paul let out a breath. “Think about it, Charlotte. Plenty of the men we have with us left wives and children behind. I was lucky enough that you refused to stay in Boston, but it will be different when we’re traveling for hours every single day.” He sat up and cupped her chin with his free hand, raising her eyes to meet his. “It wouldn’t be fair to you, or to the others, if you came with us.”

“For the same reason we’re not doing public affection anymore,” Charlotte concluded listlessly.

“Right.” Paul hated that the glimmer in her eyes had gone out, and he wished he could do or say something that would bring it back. “I won’t stop writing letters.”

She let out a weak chuckle and leaned forward to hug him. Paul wrapped his arms around her, brushing one through her soft hair.

“I suppose I can live with it,” Charlotte murmured, pulling back. “I’ll just have to admit that I’m your wife, and like normal wives, I should stay in our home while you’re off at war.” Paul nodded sadly. “We don’t know anything for sure, yet.”

“You’re right,” Paul said. “We don’t, and until we do, we can pretend everything will be the same.” Charlotte began to grin, but she yawned instead. Paul smiled for her.

“We should go to sleep,” she suggested.

Paul nodded his consent, and they laid back down in their normal sleeping position. Charlotte pulled Paul’s arms around her a bit tighter, and he smiled to himself before he pressed a kiss against her hair.

If he did end up leaving with the rest of the army, he would miss her to the point of pain, he knew. It wasn’t as though he had a choice, though, was it? He was a necessary part of the Continental Army, and though he knew General Washington had plenty other men more than willing to stand by his side, Paul had found he enjoyed being in charge.

When there was someone to help him, of course.

Still, it was pointless thinking about him not traveling with the army. There was no reason to believe he would stay behind, when there was so much that needed to be done. They were at war with Britain.

Washington would need every man he could get, and Paul was not about to refuse that, even if it meant leaving Charlotte in Boston. She would be better off there, anyhow, no matter how lonely the both of them grew to be. Letters were definitely no replacement for physically being together, but at least they were an option.

Paul would go with the army, and Charlotte would stay in Boston. They would learn to deal with the separation, and, Paul hoped, the war would be won and over before they knew it, and he would be able to return home to her.

That was simply how it had to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also I'm really tired and only skimmed through this chapter to edit it. There's probably a lot of errors.   
> Sorry 'bout that.


	25. Leading Up To

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Paul and Charlotte talk about his position in the war, and what this means for them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was supposed to take my driver's test today.   
> Look at where I am instead.

March 10th, 1776

“Charlotte!” Amos dove out of the way before the shot she had just fired could hit him instead of the target, which she  _ thought  _ she had been aiming at.

Sheepishly, she lowered her pistol as Amos uncovered his head and glared up at her.

“Sorry,” she apologized. “I… I tried to aim at the target. I thought I had it this time, too.” She rotated her shoulder and then shook out her right arm. “My arm moved from the force.”

Amos grunted as he climbed back to his feet. He then came over to her, took her pistol, aimed, and fired. The apple she had been trying to shoot off the post twenty feet away exploded as he met his target.

Amos gestured to the post with his free hand.

“Not hard.”

“I know,” she sighed. “I don't understand why I can't hit it.”

It was March 10th. Since the meeting with General Gage, Charlotte had been finding ways to occupy her time so that she wouldn't distract Paul from his pre-British evacuation duties.

It was Amos who had suggested shooting lessons, and she had agreed. After all, what else was there for her to do?

Of course, she didn't think Amos was particularly happy with his offer to teach her proper shooting, but at least he hadn't yelled at her yet. Although, using her first name was very close.

Amos handed her the pistol back. “Can you hit the post itself?” he asked, rubbing at his brow with the back of his hand.

Charlotte was feeling a bit sweaty herself, but she could not wear her breeches and shirts and vests - they were extremely dirty. She had reverted back to a dress, and all the layers were making her uncomfortable.

She had known this was going to happen. She needed to make herself more male clothing. It was so much more suitable to her current situation. It wouldn't be her situation for much longer, but breeches were definitely her new favorite clothing article. She decided that, once she was back in Boston, she would only wear dresses when she absolutely had too. Odd looks be damned.

Amos was staring at her, and Charlotte remembered she was trying to shoot a pistol and not miss her target.

“I’ll hit it this time.”

“No, I don’t think you will,” Amos sighed. “We’re wasting gunpowder. You’re not going to learn how to shoot this way.”

“Then what do you suggest we do?” Charlotte asked him, starting to roll her eyes.

Amos glanced around. “I wish we had some Redcoats…”

“You could have her aim at me,” William Dawes suggested as he and Paul came towards them from the house. He smirked. “I could work on my walking, since that's what I'll be doing to get out of the way.”

Charlotte deadpanned. “You’re hilarious,” she said. “I am so glad we have you around.”

“Not going well?” Paul asked, staying a few steps away from her.

Charlotte shook her head. “I can’t aim, apparently,” she said, looking at Amos.

“She’s really bad,” Amos agreed. Charlotte reached over and yanked on a strand of his hair. Amos cursed and ducked away from her before she could do it again, rubbing at his scalp. “Rude,” he muttered, glaring at her.

“If I already admitted I’m not doing something right, you do not need to emphasize the point,” Charlotte informed him. She glanced down at the pistol in her other hand and then slid it into her holster. “It hurts my arm,” she explained to Paul.

Dawes let out a quiet scoff and walked away a few paces. Charlotte glared after him, but before she could follow and smack him, Paul stepped up to her. She gazed up at him as he undid her gun belt and slung it over his shoulder.

“But -”

“No point in you carrying around a gun if you can’t shoot it properly,” Paul said, cutting her off. Charlotte sighed and glanced down at the ground. Paul smiled to himself and placed a finger beneath her chin to lift her head back up. “I’ll get you something easier, all right?”

“Fine,” Charlotte agreed, not seeing any other choice. “How did the meeting with General Washington go?”

“The British are set to leave Boston in a week,” he answered, glancing towards where Amos and Dawes had sauntered off to. “It’s gonna be a good day.”

“Right,” Charlotte said, grinning. She could see there was something else on his mind, however, and her grin faded. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Paul replied, meeting her eyes again. “Just something Washington said.”

“What did he say?” Charlotte asked.

“He uh…” Paul chuckled. “He said that I could stay in Boston if I wanted.”

“ _ What _ ?”

“He said something along the lines of me being in charge of a network of spies he’s considering setting up,” Paul explained. “Which is a little ridiculous, considering that I am probably more suited for field duty than sending spies all over the colonies.”

“But you could stay in Boston.” Charlotte couldn't believe it. The fact that there was a possibility of her husband remaining home with her but still doing work for the war was too good to be true.

“I could,” Paul said. He looked a bit uncertain, something Charlotte rarely saw, and it confused her greatly.

“What are you thinking?” she asked, suddenly wondering if it was too soon to be celebrating.

“I just…” He shook his head. “It’s nothing.”

“Paul.” He closed one eye and glanced at her with the other. Charlotte stepped back a pace and crossed her arms. “Tell me.”

Paul let out a breath and rubbed the back of his neck, studying the ground for a moment. “I don’t think I want to… stay in Boston,” he said at last.

Charlotte closed her eyes when her fear was confirmed. “Why?”

“It’s… it wouldn’t be fair,” Paul responded. “Y’know, the others would be with the army, and I’d be back at home, in no danger at all.”

Charlotte looked up sharply at this, and then she stalked forward and poked a finger into his chest. “What about me?” she asked him. “We were just fretting over this not two weeks ago, and now you’re telling me you’ve changed your mind?”

“Charlie, no -”

“Yes!” she exclaimed, backing away from him. “I don’t understand you!”

“Charlotte…”

“Don’t,” she said, holding up her hand when he started to come towards her. “Just don’t.”

She turned and hurried away towards the house, leaving Paul to stare after her, wondering what had set her off in that manner. Before he could go after her, however, there was a voice calling his name, and one of the younger boys came up, holding a letter.

“For you, Mr. Revere,” he said breathlessly. “From Mr. Adams.”

Paul took the letter, frowning. Why was Sam sending  _ him _ something instead of Charlotte?

“Thanks,” he said to the boy, who immediately dashed off again. Paul glanced down at the letter for a moment before he looked towards the house. Maybe Charlotte needed some space to cool off.

“What was that about?” Amos asked, coming up to him with Dawes a distance behind.

“Letter from Sam,” Paul answered.

“Not that,” Amos said. He gestured towards the house with a jerk of his head, and Paul let out a heavy sigh.

“No idea.”

“Women,” Dawes complained as he reached them, slinging an arm around Amos’s shoulders. “Can’t live with ‘em, but ya can’t live without ‘em, either.”

“I’m living without one just fine,” Amos grumbled, shrugging Dawes off. Paul and Dawes sort of stared at him for a moment, and then Amos grumbled to himself and shook his head. “So I can’t cook too good. That doesn’t mean nothing.”

“Sure,” Dawes said, looking over at Paul with a grin.

“You’ll find a girl soon enough, kiddo,” Paul informed him. “Maybe even during the war, who knows?” He glanced once more at the house. “Mine’s upset I don’t want to stay in Boston with her.”

Immediately, Dawes and Amos exchanged a look, and then Amos turned back to Paul, frowning.

“Can you blame her?”

Paul frowned back. “What do you mean?”

“He means that the whole reason Charlotte is here in the first place is because she missed you while she was alone in Boston,” Dawes explained for Amos. “You see, Paul, when a wife loves her husband, she typically wants him to be around as much as possible. Charlotte wanting you to stay in Boston with her, and you telling her that you do  _ not _ want to stay in Boston, is definitely a good reason for her to be angry.”

“Did General Washington say you could stay?” Amos asked.

“Well, yeah, but -”

“So why don’t you want too?” the younger man queried, his head tilting to one side.

“It wouldn't be fair,” Paul said, shrugging. “Why should I get to go back to Boston while the rest of you have to stay with the army?”

“Does Washington need you to do something while you're in Boston?” Dawes asked him.

“He mentioned being in charge of a network of spies, but he also said that he doesn't know if it will actually be a thing -”

“Because he doesn't have anyone else to be in charge of it?” Dawes guessed.

“Because Congress won't agree to it until he gets someone in charge,” Paul corrected. He glanced once more at the letter from Sam. “Sam might mention something about it in here…”

“Paul.”

“Hmm?”

“Is there another reason you don’t want to stay in Boston?”

He lifted his eyes from the rolled up letter and looked at Dawes, who was patiently waiting for his answer. Paul turned his eyes to Amos, who was also watching, waiting for the response.

Paul let out a breath. “It isn’t the fact that I don’t  _ want  _ to stay in Boston. I don’t want to feel like I’m not doing anything for the war.”

Dawes sighed in exasperation while Amos rubbed at the back of his neck.

“Are you really not going to be doing anything, though?” the younger male asked, glancing at Paul.

“If this network of spies doesn’t work out, no, I won’t be,” Paul replied.

“Paul, I know you,” Dawes cut in before Amos could speak again. “With the way you invest every part of your being into a special project, there’s no way a spy network could fail with you in charge of it.” He crossed his arms. “Tell us the truth.”

Paul looked down at the ground for a moment, kicking at the grass. Finally, he glanced up at his friends again. “I don’t want to be  _ that _ guy,” he muttered.

“What guy?” Amos asked, frowning.

“The guy that gets to stay at home with his wife under special orders from the general,” Paul said. “I hate  _ those _ guys.”

Dawes rolled his eyes. “You were one of  _ those  _ guys the second Charlotte rode into the encampment after Lexington and Concord.”

“At least I was with the army,” Paul grumbled in response, knowing that Dawes had a point.

“Paul, I’m not saying you have to take Washington up on his offer,” Dawes continued with a sigh. “I’m just saying that you have the opportunity, and that you should consider the reasons you might go for it.” He gestured towards the house. “And maybe talk to Charlotte about it a bit more.”

Paul nodded. “Fine.” He held up the letter. “I’m going to read this first, though.”

Dawes shrugged his shoulders and then gestured for Amos to follow him. The two men walked away towards the nearby encampment, and Paul broke the wax seal on the letter and unfolded it.

_ Paul, _

_ Don’t know if you have noticed, but Charlotte has not been responding to the letters I have sent her. Since I have no way of knowing if she is reading them and sharing their contents with you and Washington, I decided the best course of action is to just send you correspondence instead. _

_ We are making progress. Several of the other colonies are now on board. As of right now, it is South Carolina who is our biggest opposition, as well as Dr. Franklin’s fellow delegate from Pennsylvania, John Dickinson. _

_ I would like to know how things are going with the siege, and whether or not we are soon to regain Boston. I would like to return home as soon as we convince the rest of the delegates to agree to writing a declaration of our independence from Britain. We are assisting a delegate from Virginia by the name of Thomas Jefferson in writing it. It is our hope that once those who are not yet convinced read it, that they will be convinced. _

_ If you would like, I would also appreciate knowing why your wife has suddenly chosen to ignore me. I am hoping it was not something I said, and if it was, I apologize to her and to you, my friend. Please ask her for my forgiveness. _

_ John told me that General Washington is vying for a spy network to be created, and that he has an idea as to who he wants to lead it. Imagine if you were in charge of it, and you and I could win the war with information for the General’s use. We would be heroes. _

_ Just some things for you to think about, I suppose. Hopefully I will see you soon, friend. _

__ \- S. Adams _ _

 

Paul read the last paragraph three times before he folded the letter back over and glanced towards the house.

Inside, Charlotte was sitting on the edge of their bed, looking down at the floor. She had gotten too frustrated too quickly with him, she realized. They needed to talk, and she had walked away before they could.

She just… she had no idea as to his reasoning behind wanting to stay. There was probably something about… feeling guilty, perhaps. Charlotte didn’t know how he could feel guilty, especially if this spy network would help win the war.

She knew he would be good at controlling the network. Obviously, General Washington knew it, too, or else he wouldn’t have offered Paul the position. Charlotte wondered if maybe Paul didn’t think he would be able to do it.

She would have to tell him he most definitely could.

Or… maybe she would just let him go with the army, like he wanted.

“Charlie?” She hadn’t heard the knock on the door, but she did hear Paul speak when he opened it and poked his head into the room.

She managed a small smile for him. “Hi.”

He opened the door wider and entered before closing it behind him. “We need to talk,” he said, coming over to the bed before sitting down beside her.

“We do, and I’m sorry for stalking off like that,” she apologized. “I just… I was a bit confused, and I still am.” She reached for his hand, and he let her take it. “Why don’t you want to stay in Boston?”

Paul inhaled deeply, and then exhaled. “I want to stay,” he said at last, “but I can’t.”

“Why?”

Paul glanced at her. “Think about it for a second.”

“Can’t you just tell me?” He merely continued to look at her, and Charlotte shook her head in annoyance before turning her eyes away. She studied the floor as she considered possible reasons why he couldn’t stay in Boston. Each one, however, was more idiotic than the last one she came up with, and she finally let out a frustrated huff and glared at him.

Paul didn’t even flinch at the look. “You’re not coming up with the reason,” he concluded.

“Does this face really make it seem like I’m coming up with something?”

“Charlotte, why did you come to the encampment?” he asked her.

“Because I wanted to be with you.” She frowned. “Are you saying you can’t stay in Boston because -”

“Don’t say what you’re thinking, please,” Paul interrupted with a sigh. “It’s not the reason.”

“Then what is?” Charlotte demanded.

“I can’t stay in Boston because you came to the encampment.”

Charlotte gaped at him, not understanding. “What do you mean?”

“I haven’t been fair to the other men,” he said. “You’ve been here this whole time, while they had to leave behind their families to do this. Any other wife who decided to come to the army would probably have been sent back by now. You got to stay, and I’ve been able to have you with me.”

Charlotte started to shake her head, ready to tell him why it wasn’t true that he hadn’t been fair, but Paul took her chin in his free hand. “Listen,” he started. “I love you, so very much, but it’s like you said before. This war is bigger than the both of us, and what we want.”

“General Washington wants you to run a spy network,” Charlotte said softly. “It could win the war, Paul.”

“I know,” he said, letting go of her chin. “But there’s this thing in my head that’s telling me it wouldn’t be right of me to be in charge of it when I already had so much special treatment.”

“Paul -”

“Charlotte, if you were in Boston, and Washington gave me this offer, I would take it without a second thought,” Paul continued. “But you’re here, and you have been since the start of all this. It’s… it’s time for you and I to deal with this like everyone else, which means you’re going to stay at home, and I’m going to travel around the colonies so I can return to you a war hero.”

“I don’t need a war hero,” Charlotte said softly. She held up her hand and placed it against his cheek. “I just need you.”

“So does the army.”

“You aren’t even willing to try this spy network thing?” Paul shook his head. “Why?”

“There’s too much uncertainty. I’d rather do something I  _ know _ is helping.” Charlotte merely gazed at him, her hand leaving his cheek, but Paul caught it with his own before it could return to her lap. He held it in his for a long moment, looking down at it without speaking.

Finally, Charlotte spoke, since she was tired of waiting. “I understand,” she said. “I just… I wish you would give it a chance. It could be the thing that wins the war.”

“‘Could’ isn’t a word I want in the sentence, Charlie,” Paul said, meeting her eyes. Charlotte’s eyebrows drew together, and he let out a breath. “I would give anything to know that there was some certainty behind it, that the people who are making these decisions will agree to it, but the fact of the matter is that I don’t know, and so I don’t want to take the risk.” He leaned forward a bit, so that their noses were brushing. “Please, Charlie. I need to know that you’re okay with this.”

Instead of replying aloud, Charlotte merely closed the gap that remained between their lips and kissed him softly. When she pulled back, she drew her bottom lip between her teeth and nodded.

“You can go with the army,” she whispered.

“Are you positive?”

“Yes,” she said. “I know that this is what you want, and it’s no right of mine to tell you that you can’t have it. You let me have what I wanted; I’m returning the favor.” She gave him a small grin. “Just… don’t forget about your promise to write.”

“Never,” Paul swore. He then kissed her again, more soundly this time, and when he pulled back, Charlotte had to take a moment to get her breath back. When she was breathing normally again, she saw that Paul had pulled out a letter and was holding it towards her.

“What is it?” she asked him, taking it.

“It’s from Sam.”

Charlotte felt her chest tighten, and it took all her will not to close her fingers around the letter and crumple it into a ball. Instead, she glanced down at it before trying to give it back to Paul. He didn’t take it, and she sighed.

“What did he say?”

“He asked why you’re ignoring him.” Charlotte snorted at that, and Paul tilted his head. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No, I don’t,” Charlotte answered. “And you can write that in your response to him, if you like.” She started to stand, but Paul took the wrist of the hand holding the letter before she could walk away.

“Charlotte, did he write something to you that...?” He trailed off, not sure of how to phrase the question, but he could tell from Charlotte’s posture that she understood. “You can tell me,” Paul said gently.

“It isn’t important,” Charlotte said. “We were both being children, and now I’m… continuing to be a child about it. I would rather not speak to him right now.”

Paul stared at her, wanting to know what she was referring to, and why Sam was suddenly on her bad list, but he also didn’t want to invade her privacy. He knew what happened when he tried to do that, and he did not want a repeat of what had happened the last time Sam had come up between the two of them.

So, instead of questioning her further, he let out a breath and shrugged his shoulders. “All right,” he said. “I’ll let you work through the issue.” He tilted his head at her when she looked at him in surprise. “Are you sure you don’t want to respond to Sam yourself?”

“Positive,” Charlotte said without hesitation. “It’s… it’s better if I don’t.”

Paul gazed at her a moment longer before he nodded. “Fine, it’s your choice.” He took the letter from her and placed it on the bedside table before standing. Charlotte faced him, and he slid his arms around her waist. When Charlotte looked down at the ground, he leaned forward and pressed his forehead to hers to draw her head back up.

When she was looking at him, he offered her a grin, and Charlotte returned it almost at once. It was impossible for her not to.

“Ah, there is is,” Paul said, chuckling. “That’s what I was looking for.”

Her smile grew, and she glanced around the room for a moment. “I want to do something,” she said at last.

“Like what?” Paul queried.

“No idea, but something.” Charlotte sighed and looked at him again. “Paul -”

She was cut off by a knock on the bedroom door, and Paul gave her an apologetic glance before he moved away from her and pulled open the door.

One of Washington’s most trusted men was standing on the other side, grinning. Charlotte saw Paul inhale and exhale.

“Knox,” he greeted.

“Revere. I hope I wasn’t interrupting anything,” Henry Knox said, glancing over Paul’s shoulder towards Charlotte. “Afternoon, ma’am.”

“Hello, Henry,” she answered, giving him a small smile.

Knox’s attention returned to her husband. “General Washington has asked to see you.”

“Already?” Paul looked over at Charlotte for a moment. “I told him I would need a bit to think about his offer.”

Knox nodded. “It isn’t the offer he wants to discuss.”

“Guess I shouldn’t keep him waiting,” Paul said. “Tell him I’ll be there shortly?”

“Of course,” Knox responded. He nodded to Charlotte, and then walked off. Paul turned to face Charlotte, lifting his shoulders.

“I have to go talk to Washington.”

“I suppose so,” she replied.

Paul stepped towards her and placed a kiss on her forehead. “We’ll do whatever you like when I get back, all right?”

“Sure,” Charlotte said, managing a smile.

Paul returned it, and then exited the bedroom, the door closing behind him. Charlotte sat down on the edge of the bed again and let out a breath. She looked over at the letter Sam had sent Paul. She hesitated for a moment before reaching over and picking it up.

Cautiously, she unfolded it, and read what Sam had written. She bit her lip when she read the part about her ignoring him, and she realized that it may have hurt him more than she had aimed for it to. Maybe she should send him a letter, just so he wouldn’t send Paul another letter complaining.

She was very close to standing up from her seat on the bed and going over to the tiny writing desk against the opposite wall, but something kept her down. She didn’t know what it was, but then she heard Warren’s voice in her head:  _ Don’t let Sam indulge in you _ .

The was the goal of halting correspondence with him, wasn’t it? By not writing to him at all, she hadn’t given Sam any outlet for  _ indulging _ , as Warren had so gently put it many months before.

No. Charlotte couldn’t write to Sam. It was a bad choice all around, despite Sam clearly being hurt that she was ignoring him. She wasn’t even necessarily ignoring him, though Sam had no way of knowing that, did he?

She groaned and fell backwards onto the bed, suddenly feeling a headache coming on.

“I should not be so distressed by this,” she whispered, covering her eyes with one hand.

When Paul returned from the meeting with Washington (he’d merely wanted to discuss something about the battalion that would be going inside Boston to usher the Redcoats out), he found Charlotte fast asleep on their bed.

He grinned to himself as he walked over to the bed and leaned over her, pressing a gentle kiss on her forehead. He then straightened up and glanced at the letter Sam had sent him, which was clenched tightly in her hand. He gingerly pried it away from her and set it on the bedside table again before casting one last look at his sleeping wife and shuffling quietly out of the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well... *sigh*  
> Y'know what they say. If you can spot the hidden message, the author will... probably not give you anything in return.


	26. Evacuation Day, and Separation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Redcoats evacuate Boston, and Paul leaves with the Continental Army, leaving Charlotte alone in Boston. Again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for a Twitter thread featuring some characters from A Tale of Two Nations.

March 17th, 1776

From the time the sun rose to the time it set, the rebels were busy. Whether they were busy entering Boston, or getting ready outside of the city for the march after the Redcoats left, they were doing something.

Charlotte found herself locked in the John Vassall house, alone. She knew that Paul was off with Washington, waiting in Boston for General Gage and his commanding officers to lead their troops out of the city.

She also knew that Kelly and Amos and Dawes were posted nearby the house to make sure that no stray Redcoats who wandered away from their battalion would come too close, though Charlotte had no idea how that was even considered a possibility.

She was anxiously awaiting for the men to fetch her and take her to Boston to be with her husband for the last few hours before he and the rest of the army went after the Redcoats who were evacuating the city. She wanted as much time with him as possible, though she understood why she wasn’t allowed in Boston at the present.

Still, that didn’t mean she couldn’t be annoyed at being left behind. She wanted to be in Boston when the Redcoats went marching out, hopefully with their heads bowed and their spirits low. She wanted to tear a British flag off of a pole and rip it to pieces. She wanted to celebrate with her fellow Boston citizens when the threat that had been making their lives Hell for the last 8 years finally left their city for good.

She muttered out a quiet curse when her belly twisted in a most unpleasant manner, and dismissed it as nerves. She’d been having the pains all week, although they were extremely hard to ignore today in particular. She didn’t know where they had come from, nor was she terribly happy that they were present. She just knew that there were more important things to worry about just then, no matter how annoying the pains were.

It felt like ages had passed before Kelly finally came up to her room, grinning. “Come on down,” he offered, scooping up the saddlebags that were waiting by the door. “Time to go home, Lottie.”

She couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across her face as she gleefully followed him downstairs and outside. Dawes and Amos were waiting on the backs of two horses. An extra was prepared for Kelly, who slung the saddlebags onto it and then climbed up into the saddle.

He offered his hand to Charlotte, who accepted it, and he pulled her up into the saddle in front of him. “Let’s get the lass home, lads,” he said to Amos and Dawes, who followed Kelly’s lead in turning their horses around and galloping off towards Boston.

The ride took a good thirty or so minutes, and was an uncomfortable one at that. When they approached Boston, Charlotte could tell that the Redcoats hadn’t left just yet, even though the sun was setting. As she and Kelly dismounted from their horse just outside the city at the stables, she looked around at all the waiting militiamen, who were pacing or cleaning their guns or simply sitting and watching.

“They haven’t evacuated yet?” she asked Kelly.

“Not yet,” Kelly said. “Paul wanted ya here so you could see ‘em off with the rest of Boston.”

Charlotte had to grin again. Paul knew her too well.

Kelly pulled her saddlebags off of the horse and then gestured with his head. “C’mon, let’s go find Paul.”

Ignoring her upset stomach, Charlotte stuck close to Kelly as they made their way into Boston. There were several rebels guarding the entrance to the city, but they let the two of them pass with simple nods. Charlotte had to admit that there was definitely no reason for her to feel in danger in Boston any longer.

As soon as they entered the city, straight onto the main square, Charlotte froze. After months of not seeing the red of the British soldiers’ coats, it was a shock to see so much red in one place. It seemed that most of the British battalion was gathered in the main square, and it took a gentle nudge from Kelly to get her moving again.

“Lottie, Paul’s waitin’ for ya,” he said.

“Right, sorry,” she responded, blinking. “Let’s go.”

Kelly nodded, and continued on into the city. Charlotte stuck with him, holding onto his coat so she wouldn’t lose him in the thick crowds of Boston citizens. All of them were booing the waiting Redcoats, some going as far as to throw things at them.

If Charlotte hadn’t been so eager to get to her husband, she probably would have joined in.

But, alas, Paul was waiting for her.

Still, when a bit of horse dung flew past her and hit a Redcoat on the back, Charlotte had to stop. She gagged from the wretchedness of the smell, and Kelly looked back at her when he realized she was no longer with him. 

“Lottie?” he asked, concerned, when he had reached her again. She had her hand over her mouth and nose, and her other was over her belly.

She remained that way for a minute, and then she lowered the hand over her nose and mouth, and looked at Kelly. “I’m fine,” she assured.  “Let’s keep going.”

Kelly nodded, but seeing her that way wasn’t going to be ignored for long. 

Charlotte grabbed onto his coat again, and they continued on their way, Charlotte’s belly protesting all the while. She was surprised when they walked right past the workshop and headed for the fabric shop instead.

“Why -?”

“Paul thought Washington would like staying in the fabric shop more than the workshop,” Kelly explained.

“Oh.” Charlotte didn’t finish her original question. Instead, the walk continued on in silence, and they reached the fabric shop within minutes.

As soon as she caught sight of it, Charlotte forgot all about her pain and ran the rest of the way. She burst through the shop door; almost immediately, there was a gun pointed at her head.

“Whoa, whoa!” Paul exclaimed, jumping up from where he sat on a chair and hurrying over to her, holding up his hands. “Easy. It’s just Charlotte.”

“Sorry,” she apologized to the rebel who had pulled his gun on her. “I shouldn’t have come in so quickly.”  _ Even though it’s  _ my  _ store. _

She gave Washington a little wave before looking at Paul, wondering why he wasn’t hugging her like she had thought he would. She then remembered their talk about affection in front of the others, and she sighed to herself.

“Paul.” She held out her arms, and he grinned slightly before accepting the hug.

“I thought you might like to be here when the Redcoats left,” he told her.

“I appreciate you thinking of me,” Charlotte replied, pulling away from the hug before one of the others could show signs of being annoyed by the embrace. “I aim to tear at least one British flag in half before the night is done.”

That received chuckles from everyone, aside from General Washington, who merely smiled.

Paul took her hand in his. “Mind if we do it together?” he asked.

Charlotte sighed in exasperation. “I guess not,” she said, rolling her eyes.

More laughter, and then there was a very specific knock on the door of the shop. The rebel who had pointed his gun at her opened it, and Henry Knox strolled into the main room.

“George,” he started, “General Gage is ready to depart.”

“Excellent,” Washington said, standing up from his own chair. “Mr. Revere, I suggest you keep a hold on to your wife until they start walking.”

“I’ll do my best,” Paul said, smirking.

Charlotte shoved him as Washington walked past out of the door, with Knox and his two rebel guards right behind him. Kelly remained behind, watching as Paul turned Charlotte so that she was facing him, and lifted her chin so that she was looking at him.

“What?” she asked, frowning. “We need to go.”

“I know,” Paul agreed. “I just…” He sighed to himself, and then shook his head before leaning down and pressing his lips against hers. Charlotte was slightly taken aback, but she let herself sink into the kiss, wrapping her arms around him while Kelly snorted in the background.

The kiss ended after a few moments, and she raised a questioning eyebrow at Paul.

“Just wanted to kiss you one last time in the Boston we fell in love in,” he explained.

It was Charlotte’s turn to snort. “You’re such a romantic,” she told him.

“Is that a bad thing?” Paul queried, furrowing his brow.

“No,” Charlotte answered, “but you should save it for later. I don’t want to be swooning when I’m supposed to be shouting curses at the Redcoats.”

Paul chuckled. “Right.”

“Come on, then,” Kelly said with a roll of his eyes. “Much more of this, and we’ll miss the whole evacuation.”

Paul and Charlotte exchanged an amused look as Kelly led the way out of the fabric shop onto the streets of Boston. The roar of cheers from Boston citizens reached them from where they waited on the edges of the main square.

“Stick close,” Paul suggested, taking Charlotte’s hand in his. She grabbed onto Kelly with the other, and the three of them shuffled their way through the Boston citizens, who were wandering the streets towards the main square. When they reached it, Kelly, with his height, was able to make them a path through the thick crowds to the front, where they had a good view of the Redcoats.

General Gage was mounted on the back of a white horse, the few officers he had left riding on either side of the battalion.

Paul pointed out General Washington to them both from where he stood with Henry Knox by the city entrance, surrounded by a large group of rebels with guns.

“Shouldn't you be with them?” Charlotte said into his ear, and Paul simply shrugged, turning his head to speak into hers.

“Nah,” he said. “Don’t need to be seen as a glorious leader by the citizens of Boston.”

“But you are one,” Charlotte told him, and Paul merely smiled slightly in reply.

General Gage gave a command to one of the officers, who called it out louder than the general had. “Right face!”

All at once, the Redcoats turned right, following his command. For some reason, Charlotte felt a strange fear enter her chest as the officer once again called out a command: “Forward march!”

Just like that, the Redcoats starting marching forward. The sea of Boston citizens that had surrounded them parted, though they didn’t stop shouting curses and throwing things as they did so. Charlotte refrained from taking the proffered tomato an old woman nearby offered her.

The woman shrugged, and threw it for herself. It sailed surprisingly far, and hit a Redcoat in the back of the leg.

“Stay out of our city, you scum!” the old woman screeched.

Charlotte caught Kelly’s eye, and saw the Irishman was doing his best to hold back a laugh, which made her start giggling. Paul covered her mouth with one hand to silence the giggles so that the old woman wouldn’t give them any funny looks, even though he was smiling himself.

The evacuation lasted at least an hour, which should say something about how many Redcoats were actually in Boston. Almost immediately after the last Redcoat had disappeared from the eyeline of any Boston citizen, it seemed like an explosion went off in the middle of the square.

Boston residents began to cheer and yell at the top of their lungs. Charlotte watched in amazement as several groups of men set up bonfires in the center of the square, and still others disappeared into buildings and reemerged with instruments of all kinds.

Charlotte tugged on Paul’s hand as they started up a lively tune. “Come dance!” she insisted, gesturing towards other couples that were already taking advantage of the music being played.

Paul gave Kelly a helpless shrug as he allowed Charlotte to pull him into the middle of the square. Kelly watched the couple join in the cheerful dance that others were performing, and he had to chuckle to himself when Paul almost toppled over after attempting a spin.

He then spotted something bright red hanging over a nearby door, and his grin grew as he pushed his way through the crowd to get to the British flag. In one swift motion, he’d jumped up and pulled it down, just as someone set off some fireworks nearby.

They whizzed and popped, their lights bright in the darkness that was descending onto Boston. Kelly made his way into the crowd once more and waded through the people, holding the flag above his head. When he reached the front of the crowd, he gestured wildly with the flag, trying to catch Charlotte’s attention.

He did when she spun outwards away from Paul, and she beamed at him and kept on spinning until she reached Kelly, who caught her with one hand. He bowed grandly as he offered the flag to her.

“Your flag,” he said.

“Thank you,” she responded, bowing back as she took it from him. She then looked around for Paul, only to find that he was already right behind her. He picked her up and spun her around, grabbing one end of the flag as he did so.

When Charlotte was back on the ground, she pulled away from him, thus tugging on her end of the flag. The fabric tore almost immediately, and then she was falling backwards from the force of the rip. Thankfully, Kelly caught her before she could hit the ground, and Charlotte cackled happily.

“Yes!” she cheered, holding up her tattered half of the flag.

“Burn it!” someone shouted and she grinned wickedly.

“Perfect plan.” She snatched Paul’s half from him and disappeared into the growing crowd. Paul shook his head to himself, chuckling. He wished he could see Charlotte’s face when the flag went up in flames, but any hope of finding her now was gone.

Instead, he watched, curious, as Washington made his way through the crowd towards him, a small smile on his face as he watched the festivities occurring around him.

When he reached Paul, they gazed around at the Boston citizens together for a moment. Another firework went off nearby, sizzling and crackling joyfully as the children who were watching it clapped and yelled.

“They think it’s over.” The General’s voice gave Paul a tiny shock, and he turned a bit to follow Washington’s tall form as he made his way off into the crowd again, until he disappeared.

His words were a bit of a wakeup call for Paul, who already knew very well that the war was far from over. Before he could ponder on it too long, however, Amos pushed his way through the crowd, his eyes bright.

“Paul! Come quick!” he said, gesturing widely.

“Why?” Paul shouted over the noisy crowd.

“Charlotte’s about to challenge Kelly to a drinking contest!” Amos said. “I don’t think you want a drunken wife on your hands!”

“God. Doesn’t she know that there’s no chance of her winning against Kelly?” Paul asked Amos.

“Probably, but we’re celebrating, and I don’t think she gives a damn,” Amos replied.

Paul grinned to himself. “I suppose she has an excuse.”

\--

March 18th, 1776

Charlotte and Paul didn’t stay out with the celebrating Boston citizens to long, since they had several things to do at home that couldn’t be done in the public eye. It was a lovely night, though, and Charlotte woke before Paul the following morning, none of the ache she had had the day before present in her system.

When she rolled over and saw he was still sleeping, she took a few minutes to study his sleeping face, taking it in, since she would be missing it for Lord knew how long. She wouldn’t try to convince him to stay with her, not after plans had been made for him in the army itself, but she did wish he was remaining in Boston.

Still, since he wasn’t, she wanted to get as much of him imbedded into her thoughts as possible.

Paul must have felt her watching him, because he stirred, blinking several times before yawning and rolling onto his back. Without waiting for a gesture from him, Charlotte crawled closer and rested her head on his chest.

Paul wrapped an arm around her and held her against him, his fingers drifting over the skin on her shoulder. They lay in silence for several minutes, and Charlotte wondered how likely it was for the army to just leave without him because Washington grew tired of waiting.

“I gotta go soon, Charlie,” Paul said softly, drawing her out of the reverie.

She sighed to herself. “I know.”

“You know how much I love you, right?” he asked.

“Mm… a lot, I guess?”

Paul chuckled, and she closed her eyes as she felt the rumble of his chest beneath her. “More than a lot,” he said. “More than my own self.”

“Well, I would hope so,” Charlotte began, aiming to be teasing. “If you loved yourself… I think we would have a problem.”

“What’s wrong with loving yourself?” Paul asked, smirking.

Charlotte paused. He sort of had a point, actually. “Well… nothing, I suppose,” she admitted.

Paul leaned up far enough that he could press a kiss against the top of her head, and then he let out a breath. “I have to get dressed.”

“Right,” Charlotte said. She didn’t move, however, and Paul leaned his head back on the pillow, studying the ceiling.

“Charlie?”

“I know.” She sighed, and sat up with no small amount of reluctance. Paul followed suit, and he placed his lips on hers in a soft kiss before he slid off of the bed to get dressed.

Charlotte watched him do so, admiring his muscles as he bent down to pull on some undershorts and breeches, and then slipped into a shirt.

“Do you need me to make you something to eat?” she asked him as he buttoned up the last button and then pulled on a vest.

“If you want to butter me a piece of bread, I wouldn’t be opposed,” Paul answered.

“All right,” Charlotte agreed. She slid off the bed and pulled on her robe before sliding out of the bedroom and towards their kitchen. She decided to go a step further and toast his bread. As she was turning the slice over the fire to get the other side brown, Paul came out of the bedroom and wrapped his arms around her waist.

“I love you,” he said, kissing the curve of her neck.

“How many times are you going to say that to me?” Charlotte questioned, chuckling.

“As many times as I can,” he replied, smiling against her skin. “You didn’t need to toast it.”

“It isn’t like it takes a lot of work,” she answered, checking the side that was facing the fire. “Pull out the butter from the icebox, would you?”

Paul released her and headed towards the insulated box that kept ice frozen and things cold, pulling out the dish of butter and placing it on the table. Charlotte rose with the toasted bread, and slid it onto the waiting plate.

As the air cooled it off enough to butter it, she looked at Paul.

“Are you taking anything extra?” she asked.

He shook his head and passed her a knife so that she could butter the toast for him. Charlotte’s nose twitched as the scent of the toasted bread and butter really hit her, as did the sudden urge to vomit. She held it back. 

“I don’t need anything that isn’t in the saddlebags,” Paul said.

Charlotte finished with her buttering and slid the plate towards him as she took the butter dish back to the icebox. “Do you know where you’re going?”

“We’re following Gage’s troops,” Paul answered with a shrug. “I don’t know where they’re going, but I would bet money that it’s New York.”

“Oh,” Charlotte said, wincing. “That’s pretty far.”

“I’ll have gone all over the colonies before the war is over,” Paul replied. He saw her shoulders tense a bit, and he regretted saying it almost immediately. There wasn’t anyway of remedying it, however, and so he simply took another bite out of his toast.

Charlotte rested one of her hands against the wall, closing her eyes to regain her composure before she turned to face Paul again.

He met her gaze, and offered her a smile. “Remember, I’ll be writing to you as often as I can.”

“I know,” she said, trying to return the smile, but getting nothing better than a grimace on her face.

Paul wished that she didn’t have to put on false happiness for him, but he didn’t know how to make her feel any better. Going with the army was simply something he had to do. He hoped that Charlotte would understand that, eventually if not now.

He finished his toast and sat in his seat for a moment, gazing down at the empty plate before he looked at his wife. “Come here,” he said, holding out his hand.

Charlotte approached him, slightly wary of any remaining smell. She took his hand, and he pulled her onto his lap. Charlotte draped her arms over his shoulders as Paul pressed his forehead against hers.

“I want you to know that I will do everything in my power to make it so that I can come home as soon as possible,” he told her, his voice soft.

Charlotte gazed at him, her green eyes shining with tears she was clearly holding back. “I wish you didn’t have to worry about coming home to me,” she started, “since you were already here.”

Paul inhaled and exhaled. “I know,” he said. “I do. But you know that I can’t stay.”

“I do,” Charlotte agreed quietly.

A silence fell between them, and Paul tried to think of something to say, but nothing came to him.

When he didn’t speak, Charlotte did. “I understand why you’re not staying. I just wish you were. But… the war is bigger than both of us, right? And I said you could go.” She gave him a weak smile. “I have to let you.”

Paul nodded, and he closed the gap between them, kissing her long and deep. Charlotte sensed that he was taking this kiss so far so he could memorize what it felt like, and she did the same, going as far as to tangle her fingers in his hair and add her tongue to the mix of lips.

Paul had to pull back before he could let her take it too far, however, and he smirked at her. “Don’t take it all at once.”

“I need to,” she said, her breathing uneven. “I need to remember what it feels like.”

“Yeah,” Paul said after a moment. “I don’t blame you.” He used one hand and brushed a strand of her hair behind her ear, kissing her again, only more softly this time. “I love you.”

Charlotte’s heart ached at the warmth in his eyes, and she studied them for a long moment, memorizing their shape and their color and their glistening, before hiding that image somewhere in her brain for safekeeping.

“I love you too,” she replied, and then rested her head on his shoulder, noticing not for the first time that his smell, that special combination that was his, did not make her recoil at all. It was a relief, considering every other scent over the last week had made her belly protest. She really,  _ really  _ did not want to give it up.

Paul hugged her against him, closing his eyes, folding this memory up and sliding it away, so that he would be able to think back on it later, and feel her against his chest, her breath warm on his neck. He wanted to be able to smell the vanilla and lavender that seemed to always exist on her skin and in her hair. He wanted to be able to see her face, hear her voice, when he needed it the most. 

After what only felt like a few seconds, but was actually almost thirty minutes, Paul shifted, and Charlotte realized that she needed to let him go. She sniffed a bit to hold back her tears, and she climbed off of his lap. Paul held her hand in his, however, not letting her go far.

“I love you,” he said, and she had to giggle.

“All right, all right,” she said. “Do you want me to come see you off?”

Paul considered it for a long moment, and then he realized it was probably better for the both of them if she didn’t. So, with a small twinge of sadness, he shook his head.

“It’ll be easier if you stay here,” he said.

Charlotte nodded in understanding, sort of grateful for this answer. She didn’t want to fall apart in tears in front of General Washington and the whole colonial army.

Paul stood up from his chair, and he gazed down at her for a long moment, studying her features for as long as he could before he knew he  _ had _ to go.

He offered her one last smile, and Charlotte trapped the sight of it in her mind before he leaned down and pressed a final kiss against her lips.

“Say it one more time,” she whispered as he pulled back.

Paul closed his eyes and kissed her forehead lightly before murmuring, “I love you more than my own self.”

Charlotte chuckled helplessly, and nodded. “And I you, my love.”

“I’ll be home to you soon, I promise,” Paul said.

Charlotte nodded again, and Paul pulled away from her and went down the stairs, doing his best not to look back at her. He knew that if he did, he would end up picking her up in his arms and locking the both of them in their bedroom so that none of the rebels would be able to get them out.

Charlotte closed her eyes when she heard his footsteps on the stairs, and then winced as the door to the workshop closed. She would not cry, though, however much the tears were stinging the back of her throat and threatening on the edge of her eyes.

One lone tear escaped, however, and she felt the saltiness of it on her lips as she gripped the edge of the table to keep from falling over.

Paul closed the door of the workshop, and remained outside for a moment, looking down at the ground. There were emotions bubbling inside of him, and he knew that if he didn’t walk away now, he’d be crying within seconds.

So, swallowing, he forced himself to walk away from the workshop and towards the main square of Boston. Kelly was waiting for him in front of the Green Dragon, a saddlebag slung over his shoulder. He approached Paul, and set a hand on his shoulder.

“How’re ya feelin’?” he asked.

Paul shook his head and chuckled. “Not great, but… this was my decision.”

“Yeah,” Kelly agreed. “Course, if Lottie had argued a bit more, you probably would have given in.”

Paul kept his eyes on the ground. “Maybe.”

“Don’t ‘maybe’ me,” Kelly said, giving Paul a sideways glance. “If she had put her foot down and said “Paul Revere, you are staying in Boston with me, and you are going to win this war with spies,” you wouldn’t have had any choice.”

Kelly was right, but Paul didn’t want to imagine it was Charlotte’s fault they were both having to go through this. After all, she had agreed to let him go because he had wanted to go. Paul was in no place to regret his decision to go with the army, not after he had already asked Charlotte to let him go, and she had agreed.

Still, it was hard not to. 

“Paul.”

He glanced up at Kelly’s voice. “Yeah?”

Kelly studied his friend az they walked, wondering if he should tell Paul about how Charlotte had stopped walking yesterday, and had seemed ready to vomit. When he saw that the last thing Paul needed was something else to worry about, he sighed to himself and faced forward again. 

“Nothin’. Nevermind.” 

Paul decided that he didn’t want to push on the subject, and he left it alone.

He and Kelly reached the main square, and Henry Knox waved at the two of them from where he stood by the entrance to the city. The two made their way towards him, and Knox gave Paul an encouraging pat on the shoulder.

“Don’t worry too much, Revere,” he said. “You’ll be back before you know it.”

“Somehow I doubt that,” Paul responded, refraining from shrugging Knox’s hand off of his shoulder. “Is the General ready to go?”

“We’re waiting for the scouts we sent after the British to come back with a report on the direction they traveled,” Knox explained as the three of them exited Boston and headed towards where the rest of the rebels were packing up the encampment they had set up outside of the city. “Seemed like they headed west, but we won’t know for sure.”

“Paul thinks they headed for New York,” Kelly said, ignoring the glare Paul sent in his direction.

Knox’s eyebrow raised. “Why do you think that?” he queried.

Paul exhaled, filing away reminder to sock Kelly for telling Knox his prediction. “New York’s port is just as big as Boston’s, if not bigger. It’s possible that Gage asked for reinforcements to be sent there instead.”

Knox looked thoughtful. “Well, I see now why Washington seems to trust you,” he said after a moment.

Paul kept the comment that came to him to himself, but he was sure Knox saw the small scowl that slid onto his face.

Knox had been a good friend of his before the smuggling ring had started. Apparently, Sam didn’t want to include Knox in the plan, since the bookstore he owned was frequented mostly by Tories and British regulars.

It may have also been because Knox was known by the British to be a skilled leader in all things war-related, and Sam knew that there would be suspicion surrounding Knox himself. The few times Paul had gone into the bookstore, he and Knox had done their best to hide all of Paul’s involvement in the rebel activity.

Charlotte didn’t know it, but Paul had been approached by several Redcoats on different occasions, and he had been asked for information on his friend. Paul supposed that Knox had changed, like so many of the rebels, with the start of the war, but that didn’t mean Paul didn’t miss the way his friend had been.

He and Kelly followed Knox towards where Washington was standing, hands behind his back. He was watching the road, but he glanced at Knox as the three approached.

“Anything?” Knox queried.

“One scout returned,” Washington answered.

“What happened to his companion?”

“Dead,” Washington answered, turning and walking back towards the waiting men. “Our living scout reported he was shot on sight.”

“Did we at least learn where the British were going?” Knox sighed after a moment of silence had passed.

“They headed west, like we saw, and from what the scout gathered, it seems as though their goal is to reach New York before reinforcements arrive,” Washington replied.

Kelly elbowed Paul, and the silversmith shrugged. It really wasn't a hard thing to guess.

“I should say something to them all before we heard out,” Washington said to the three of them.

“Any ideas?” Paul asked.

Washington studied him for a moment. “Just something to keep our their spirits high.” He dismissed them all with a nod, and Paul followed Kelly towards where Dawes and Amos were standing beside two horses.

Washington moved into a small clearing amongst the center most area of the gathered men. His presence drew the attention of all those who could see him, and eventually, silence fell over the rebels.

Washington walked around the edge of the circle that gathered around him, his hands behind his back, his eyes meeting each man’s he passed.

“The British have gone towards New York,” he said at last. “No doubt they plan on joining the reinforcements that are arriving there.” Washington walked away from the edge of the circle and back to the middle. “Now that they have lost Boston, I don't put it past them to want to win New York instead.”

Someone let out a noise of distaste while someone else shouted “Let ‘em try!”

Washington didn’t smile or nod in agreement. He merely went on: “We’re going to go after them, and make sure they don’t take another one of our cities.”

His words were met with scattered responses from the rebels, and Washington nodded once. “Let’s head out, boys.”

“You heard the General!” Henry Knox shouted. “Let’s move!”

The rebels began to gather their things, and Dawes led his horse forward through the parting circle to Washington, who accepted the reins with a grateful nod and gracefully swung up into the saddle.

Paul crossed his arms, and Kelly chuckled from where he stood beside him. “What?” Paul asked.

“You still ride horses better,” Kelly answered. Paul filed away a reminder for a second sock, and then looked at Amos in surprise when he tried to hand him the reins of his horse.

“What’re you doing?”

“Washington said that you and Knox get horses,” Amos explained.

Paul frowned, but when he saw Knox already mounting the horse someone had brought to him, he knew that there was no way of denying a mount without seeming ungrateful. So, with a sigh, he climbed up into the saddle and directed his horse over to where Washington and Knox sat on theirs.

“Are you ready?” Washington asked him, and Paul glanced around at their army for a moment, before glancing towards Boston one last time.

He then turned to Washington and nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “Let’s go.”

“Move out!” Washington called, and then his horse galloped away to the front of the rebel army. Knox winked at Paul, and rode off as well, and Paul let out a breath. He was back to traveling with a regiment. When the war with the French had ended, he hadn’t thought he’d see another war in his lifetime, however much he wanted there to be one.  


And yet, here he was, one of the leaders of a colonial army, fighting for independence.

Strange how much can change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @silversmithrevere:   
> @lottieluvsyou   
> "Cuz when the daylight comes I'll have to go, but tonight I'm gonna hold you so close."   
> I'll miss you, Charlie.  
> \----  
> @lottieluvsyou:  
> @silversmithrevere <3
> 
> @rintimtim:  
> @silversmithrevere @lottieluvsyou he'll be back in a year or so, stop acting like he's going to war.  
> oh wait.
> 
> @hancock_writes:  
> @silversmithrevere that's not fair @rintimtim
> 
> @rintimtim:  
> @silversmithrevere @hancock_writes yeah, i know. sorry.


	27. June (Part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sam talks with his companions in Philadelphia about a variety of topics.

June, 1776

In Philadelphia, a couple months later, Sam was talking to some of his new friends when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned around and found John Hancock standing behind him.

“Pardon me, gentlemen,” he said to the men. “I will be back in a moment.”

He then followed John Hancock away towards a secluded corner of the room where the Congress had been meeting for the last several months. It was a nice place, open and bright. Sam would be lying, however, if he said he wasn’t sick of seeing it everyday.

“What’s going on?” he asked John, seeing the expression on his face.

John merely held up a folded piece of parchment for Sam to see, and he frowned before snatching it from John’s hands.

“Did you go through my things?” he demanded.

“You know I do it for your own good,” John said stiffly. “And it's a good thing I did.” He gestured to the letter, which Sam was gripping tightly in one hand. “I thought we’d talked about this.”

“We did,” Sam said.

“So why are you still doing it?” Hancock queried, crossing his arms.

Sam glared at him for as long as he could before he had to look away. “I just want to know why she isn’t responding,” he muttered under his breath, noticing that a few delegates were looking at them curiously. “Is that really a bad thing?”

“She clearly doesn’t want you to send her letters anymore,” John sighed. “I don’t understand why you’re pushing it.”

“Maybe something happened to her,” Sam said. “Paul didn’t mention her in the letter he sent back. Maybe she got sick - she was with the army outside during winter. Maybe -”

“Sam.” He cut off at John’s clipped tone, and looked down at the floor. “I think that if something had happened to Charlotte, we would have heard about it. She doesn’t want you to think about her, because you have bigger things to focus on.”

“I am focussing on them,” Sam said. “You know I am. I’m trying.”

“Yes,” John agreed. “I’ve noticed. But you’re still thinking about her, and that is not something you should be doing.”

“I don’t need you to be my moral compass, Hancock,” Sam informed him. “Let me do what I want, and make my own mistakes.”

“Sam, I’m your friend,” John said after a moment. “I am only trying to help you.”

“I don’t need your help,” Sam answered. “Nothing has come of it, and so there’s no reason to worry. Get off my case.”

Without waiting for John to say anymore, Sam returned to the group he had originally been conversing with, putting a smile back onto his face.

“Now, gentlemen,” he said, cutting into the circle, “where were we?”

He could feel Hancock watching him even as he continued with his conversation, and Sam wished, not for the first time, that John had been left in Boston, or that he had been allowed to stay behind.

Later that same evening, Sam found himself in the room he was sharing with his cousin in Dr. Franklin’s house, looking down at the letter Hancock had found. It was for Charlotte, just a short thing asking her if she was all right. That was all it was.

Sam inhaled slowly, and then let out the breath even slower. Maybe Hancock was right, though. Maybe Charlotte didn’t want to talk to him anymore. Sam had mentioned this to Paul, but his friend hadn’t written Charlotte’s name in his response even once.

Could it be that Paul was beginning to worry about Sam’s barely suppressed feelings for his wife, and was doing his best to make sure that Sam didn’t do anything he would regret later? It was possible, Sam supposed.

His heart fell into his stomach at the next thought that entered his mind. Maybe Paul had read the letter he’d sent to Charlotte that had been addressed to The Fire of the Sun. Sam had mentioned the goodbye kiss she’d give him in that one.

If Paul had learned about that kiss…

No… no. That wasn’t what had happened. If Paul had known about the kiss, he probably wouldn’t have responded to the letter Sam sent to him.

He shook his head and laid back on the lounge he was sitting on, looking at the letter. Hancock was right, again. Charlotte was avoiding Sam so that he would put her out of his mind and focus on the task at hand.

“Dammit,” Sam sighed, letting the letter fall onto his chest as he rubbed at his eyes with both hands.

“Sam?” Cousin John poked his head into the room, saw Sam was decent, and entered fully. He noticed the letter on Sam’s chest and lifted an eyebrow as he began to roll out the blanket he slept on. “What’s that?”

“Nothing important,” Sam answered quietly, balling up the letter and tossing it into the nearby fireplace. He then rested his hands behind his head and gazed up at the ceiling as he listened to John rustling around in his blankets. “John?”

“Yes?”

“Do you think we’re actually going to convince these men?” Sam asked him.

John hesitated for a moment before replying: “I think it’s working better, now that you’re helping more.”

“Why is that?”

“Probably because you’re the one who started this,” John said, “and the delegates are noticing that you actually do want independence for all the colonies, and they’re starting to think that maybe it isn’t such a bad idea.”

Sam glanced down at his cousin, who was now lying on top of his spread out blankets, in a similar position to Sam. His hands were behind his head, and his eyes were on the ceiling, though they turned in Sam’s direction when he looked at him.

“You think that’s true?” Sam queried.

“I wouldn’t lie to you, Sam,” John answered. “You asked for what I think, and that’s it.”

Sam relaxed back onto the lounge with a sigh to himself. “All right.”

“Don’t worry,” John said. “We’ll convince them. Give it time.”

“Soon enough, we’re going to run out of time,” Sam told him, “and what are we supposed to do then?”

John didn’t respond for a long moment, and when he did, it wasn’t with a reply to Sam’s question. “Get some sleep, Sam.”

Sam listened as his cousin rolled over, and then he focused his attention on the open window that was positioned by the end of the lounge he was lying on. Stars twinkled in the black sky, slightly hidden by a tall tree just outside the window. Sam thought of Elizabeth, of her dark eyes and dark hair. He felt selfish when those dark eyes turned green, and when that dark hair lightened to gold.

He tried to sleep, to follow John’s advice, but Sam’s mind was too fuddled with thoughts for him to relax properly. Huffing as he adjusted for the fifth time, he paused, listening to his cousin for a moment to see if John was asleep.

Ah, yes. The snores. They weren’t obnoxiously loud, but it was enough to Sam to know that John was sleeping, and that he was still alive, oft times the thing he needed the most when he woke up from a nightmare of some sort.

Sam sat up and gingerly set his feet on the bare floor. He then stood and crept his way around John’s form and headed towards the closed bedroom door. He opened it and stepped out into the hallway before shutting it softly.

He had a purpose, and that purpose was to find where Dr. Franklin hid his alcohol.

Sam went right first, towards the stairs, and crept down them, wary of the third one from the bottom. He had noticed it squeaked if stepped on the wrong way. When he reached the first floor, he realized he was not the only one awake, and he cursed his luck as he made his way towards the parlor and the flickering light of candles.

He glanced into the room first before entering it fully, finding Dr. Franklin seated in an armchair beside a table, an open bottle of wine on top of it, and a glass in his hands.

“Come on in, Mr. Adams,” Dr. Franklin invited, much to Sam’s surprise. “Want a drink?”

“Do you even have to ask at this point?” Sam walked over to the other armchair and watched Franklin pour him a glass of the wine before he passed it to him. “Thanks.”

“What’s keeping you up?” Franklin asked him, taking a drink.

Sam shrugged his shoulders as he gazed down into his glass at the red liquid. “A lot of things, nothing. I can’t say for sure.”

Dr. Franklin looked up from his own glass, his eyes flashing with curiosity at Sam’s vacant answer. “Is that so?”

“I would gladly talk about it, if I knew what  _ it _ was,” Sam told him.

Franklin tilted his head as Sam swallowed every drop of wine in his glass. “Clearly it’s enough to drink,” he said after a moment. “Maybe you just don’t want to give a name to it.”

Sam let out a breath and leaned his head back against the chair, watching the ceiling with much more interest than he should have. “I guess it has a name,” he said.

“What is it?” Dr. Franklin queried, picking up the wine bottle. To his surprise, however, Sam covered the top of his glass with one hand, his eyes still on the ceiling.

“Her name’s Charlotte, and I think I’m in love with her.”

Immediately, Franklin moved the wine bottle to his own glass instead. “Women happen to be one of my specialties,” he told Sam, who chuckled.

“Married women?”

That gave Franklin pause, and he looked at Sam, unbridled interest on his face. “Married! Well, not particularly… but she’s still a woman.” Franklin grinned. “Who’s the chump she’s married to?”

“My best friend.”

Franklin grin faded almost at once. “Oh.”

Sam closed his eyes. “Hancock has been on my ass about her since we got here,” he explained. “I’ve been sending her letters this whole time,but she’s stopped responding. I’m mostly worried about her now, and I’m wondering if I did something wrong.”

Dr. Franklin watched him. “Do you really have cause to worry about that? I mean, maybe if she was your wife, sure, but she isn’t.”

“Which is why Hancock is getting more and more frustrated with me,” Sam agreed, “and why I’m frustrated with myself.”

“Well, if you know you shouldn’t worry, why are you?” Sam merely turned his head and gave him a look. Franklin responded with a half-smile. “Right. The love thing.”

“Yeah, the love thing,” Sam said. “The love thing that I should not be feeling.” He shook his head. “Believe me, though, when I say it’s hard  _ not _ to love her.”

“Is she pretty?” Franklin asked.

“More than that,” Sam replied. “She’s…” He trailed off and swallowed. “Don’t let me indulge on the thought of her. Talk to me about something else.”

“Sam, the only way I see of getting away from her all together is to think about the things that aren’t so pleasant about her,” Franklin decided. “So, what’s the worst thing about Charlotte?”

It took Sam longer than he wanted it to to come up with one of Charlotte’s flaws. “Well,” he started at last, “she’s stubborn.”

“Good start,” Franklin said, nodding. “If she’s stubborn, that means she’s definitely not going to be responding to your letters any time soon.”

That was true. Why bother sending her letters if Sam knew he wouldn’t be getting one back? For whatever reason, listening to reasoning from Franklin was a lot more effective than reasoning from Hancock.

“Mr. Adams?”

“Sorry,” Sam said. “Just thinking. You’re right, though. I shouldn’t bother sending her letters if she’s going to be stubborn and ignore them.” He rubbed his eyes for a moment. “Damn.”

“Now what’s wrong?” Franklin asked.

“Just… tired of being here,” Sam answered shamelessly. “I want to go back to Boston.”

Dr. Franklin nodded to himself, understanding Sam’s longing for home. He’d felt it a lot himself when he’d been in Britain. He couldn’t blame Sam in the slightest, but he needed to remind Sam he had a purpose.

“You can go home when we complete your goal,” he said.

“Why does everyone say it’s mine?” Sam asked.

“Your cousin told me you started the whole thing,” Franklin responded with a shrug, finishing the last of his wine. He set the glass down on the table and folded his hands across his chest. “Seems only right to call the independence plan yours.”

Sam had to snort. “The independence plan. What an idiotic name.”

Dr. Franklin chuckled along with him, and then he stood up with a sigh. “Well, I’m going to head off to bed,” he said to Sam. “You’re welcome to stay down here as long as you want.” Sam nodded, and Franklin headed for the door of the parlor, pausing long enough to point at him. “Do not drink any of my scotch.”

“I won’t,” Sam responded. “I promise.”

Franklin stared him down for another moment before he nodded and disappeared. Sam watched the parlor door close, and then faced the empty fireplace in front of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapters that follow this one will all take place within the months of June 1776-October 1776.   
> There may be questions that arise during this period, and, I must tell you, the biggest of the questions will be answered by the August chapter. Have no fear.


	28. June (Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Paul visits the delegation in Philadelphia to deliver some news.

Paul Revere pulled his horse to a halt outside of the big building that he had been directed to when he asked where the delegates for the Congress were meeting. He took a moment and stared at the structure. It was huge, and extremely well built. He had to wonder if Sam possibly felt out of place here.

He tied his horse to the hitching post and headed inside, pulling off his hat. The inside of the building was even more lavish than the outside, complete with ornate chandeliers and papered walls and carpeting and dark wood floors. The main hall led him into what was a dining room of sorts, and he heard Sam’s voice as he walked around the corner into the room.

“I don’t know how you do things in Georgia, but in Boston, that isn’t very funny.”

His friend’s statement received chuckles from the men standing around him. Paul watched as Sam laughed right along, his eyebrows drawing together. Did he want to step in and interrupt the conversation? The news about New York was important, but getting the delegates to agree to go to war was even more so.

Thankfully, he didn’t have to make the decision, because Sam spotted him all on his own. His own eyebrows furrowed in concern, but he put on a smile again when he told his companions that he would be right back.

Sam made his way through the slightly crowded dining room and joined Paul at the bar.

“What are you doing here?” Sam asked him, turning to the barkeep. “Four beers, please.” He looked at Paul again. “What’s happened?”

Paul glanced at the group of men Sam had left, and then at his friend. “Gage’s full fleet is approaching the harbor,”  he started. “There’s no longer any doubt. They’re going to attack New York.”

Sam let out a breath and rubbed at the back of his neck, looking towards the group of men as well. “How long?” he asked.

“Couple days at most,” Paul answered, and then he gestured towards the men with his hat. “Are they joining the cause?”

“Most of them,” Sam replied vacantly, watching the barkeep fill up the four mugs he had ordered.

“Well, we’re out of time,” Paul told him. Sam turned his eyes back to him. “Whatever’s gonna happen here needs to happen right now.”

Sam watched him for a moment, and then glanced at the men, and then turned to get the beers he had ordered. He picked all of them up, and gestured with his head for Paul to follow him. “Why don’t you come say hello?” he suggested.

Paul frowned, ready to decline, and then he realized what Sam was thinking. If the men heard what was happening from someone who had actually seen it, maybe it would persuade them.

Paul nodded, and followed Sam back to his friends. Sam had already plastered another grin on his face. “Gentlemen! Apologies,” he began, passing out the beers. “I got you a fresh drink there.” He then waved Paul forward. “I’d like you all to meet a good friend of mine. This is Mr. Paul Revere.”

Paul stepped into the circle and started to shake hands. “How do you do?” he asked politely.

Sam nodded to him. “He brings news from General George Washington.”

“Ah, so you’re an army man, then?” one of the men inquired, taking a drink from the mug Sam had given him.

“Yes sir,” Paul replied, nodding.

“Hmm. Takes no small amount of courage to fight the British,” the man continued.

“Indeed,” another agreed. “Especially in a war that will yield to nothing in the end.”

Paul glanced the man over. He had a long nose on a long face, and looked like an all around snob. Paul decided to give the man an idea of what was happening, and just why they needed the war.

“What colony do you come from, sir?” he asked the man.

Sam replied for him: “Mr. Livingston comes from New York.”

Livingston looked proud of this fact, until Paul chuckled. “Well, then, I guess you would like to know that the British are going to attack New York in a few days from now.”

The proud look slid right off of Livingston’s face and was replaced by subdued horror. “You cannot be serious,” he said.

“I am,” Paul said. “General Washington sent me here to warn all of you about the impending attack.” He glanced around at all of the men, taking in their expressions. Some looked fretful, others thoughtful, and others still mortified. They clearly hadn’t thought the conflict would leave Boston.

“Mr. Adams said that the British were evacuating Boston,” one of the other men said. “Did the Continental Army follow them to New York?”

Paul nodded again. “We trailed them, and a few days after the marching troops reached New York, a full British fleet sailed into New York Harbor. The General believes it to be commanded by British Admiral Richard Howe.”

“I’ve heard that name,” another man murmured to the one beside him. “Their family is all military.”

“As you can guess, the Continental Army will do whatever we can to keep New York safe, but…” Paul trailed off, and the delegates began to grumble amongst themselves. Sam nodded to them and pulled Paul away from the group a few feet.

“That was good,” he said softly. “I think that may just be all we needed.”

“I hope so, Sam,” Paul responded, sighing. “I’d love to stay and make friends, but I’m exhausted.”

“I’ll bet,” Sam agreed. “Here, follow me.”

He led Paul back to the bar, where he asked for a piece of paper and something to write with. With the pencil stub the barkeep gave him, he wrote an address down on the paper, and then handed it to Paul.

“That’s Dr. Franklin’s address,” Sam said. “He’ll let you stay at his house.”

“Thanks, Sam,” Paul said, smiling. “I’ll head over there now. Don’t stay out too late.”

“No promises,” Sam sighed, and then made his way back over to the delegates. Paul walked back down the main hall and out the front doors of the building. He paused under a streetlamp and glanced over the address before mounting his horse and heading in that direction.

When he reached Dr. Franklin’s home, he slid off his horse and made sure there was hay in its food bag before heading up to the front door. He knocked, and the door opened to reveal a young woman, who smiled at him.

“Hi, my name’s Paul Revere. I’m a friend of Samuel Adams’s. He said that I could stay here for the night.”

“Of course, Mr. Revere,” the woman replied, opening the door wider. “Please, come in.”

“Thanks.” Paul shuffled into the house, pulling his hat off once more. The woman held out her arms, and he placed both his hat and overcoat into them.

“Dr. Franklin is having his brandy in the study with Mr. Adams and Mr. Hancock,” she told him. “It’s right down the hall, and the third door on the right.”

Paul nodded, and started down the hall. As he approached the partially closed third door on the right, he heard laughter. He decided to knock before entering, and when he received an invitation to go in, he did.

“Mr. Revere!” John Hancock was the first to spot him, and he stood up from the armchair he had been sitting in to shake Paul’s hand.

“Good to see you, John,” Paul said, grinning. “Both of you.”

“What are you doing here in Philadelphia?” Sam’s cousin John asked.

Paul glanced at the man who hadn’t risen, who must have been Dr. Franklin. He was looking Paul over through narrowed eyes, though his expression wasn’t unfriendly.

“The British are going to attack New York,” he said to the other two men. “General Washington thought the delegates would like to know.”

“Oh, goodness,” Hancock said, blinking. He walked off a few paces in the nervous manner of his. John Adams looked at Dr. Franklin, who let out a sigh and leaned back in his chair.

“So, you’re the Paul Revere Sam speaks fondly of,” he said.

“Suppose so,” Paul answered, frowning. Sam had talked about him? “And you’re the one who managed to get this idea on the table at all, from what Sam’s told me.” Sam hadn’t told him that, actually. That was what Sam had told Charlotte, and what Charlotte had told Paul.

“Well, they came to me for help, and we all want the same thing,” Dr. Franklin said with a shrug. He fixed Paul with another studying look. “What do you want, Mr. Revere?”

“Independence,” Paul answered without hesitation. “Independence for the colonies from Britain.” He smiled complacently. “And to return home to my wife.” Dr. Franklin gifted him with a chuckle, and Paul shrugged. “Also a place to sleep, if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all,” Franklin answered. “Plenty of space.”

“Thank you,” Paul said, and then he let out a breath. “I should get to bed now, so I can set out before dawn.”

“Right, of course,” Dr. Franklin agreed. “Sarah!” The woman from before appeared in the doorway of the study, and Franklin waved his hand at Paul. “Show Mr. Revere to one of the bedrooms, please.”

“Yes sir. Come along, Mr. Revere.” Sarah led the way out of the study and up the staircase in the hall. She paused in front of one of the doors on the second floor and gestured to it. “The beds were remade this morning, so it’s clean in there. I hope you sleep well.”

Paul nodded gratefully, and Sarah made her way back down the stairs. He pushed open the door to his room and let out a breath at the sight of the feather bed against one wall.

“Thank God,” he said, smiling.

He dropped his saddlebag on the floor, and then sat down on the edge of the bed to pull off his boots. As he was doing so, there was the sound of the front door opening from beneath him, and then Dr. Franklin was greeting Sam.

“Welcome back.”

“Thanks,” Sam said. “Did Paul make it here?”

“He did. I had Sarah show him to a room upstairs. Why?”

“Letter came for him just after he left.” There were feet on the stairs, and then Sam was knocking on his door. “Paul? You still awake?”

Paul walked across the room to the door in his stocking feet, and Sam held out a sealed letter to him when he opened it.

“Thank you,” Paul said, flipping it over. It was from Charlotte. Of course it was. Did he even need to check anymore?

“So, she’s doing all right?” Sam asked him as Paul began to retreat back into his room.

Paul glanced up from the letter and saw Sam was watching him with concern. “Yeah, she’s perfectly fine,” he said. “A little lonely, probably, but she’s doing well.”

Relief crossed Sam’s features, and he grinned. “That’s good. I’ll let you get to sleep.”

“Good night, Sam.” Sam closed the door, and Paul sat down on the bed again, breaking the seal. The letter opened, and he took in Charlotte’s handwriting.

_ My Love, _

_ Thank you for telling me what is happening in New York. I would fret even more so than I already do if I did not know.It does me good to hear that you get to see our friends in Philadelphia, even if it is because you are delivering dreadful news. _

_ I’ve no doubt, however, that Gen. Washington will see this battle through, just like we saw through Bunk. Hill and the Siege. And with you at his side, there is only the possibility of victory. _

_ I miss you more each morning, when I awake and you are not beside me. And yet I remember what you are doing, and I am filled with even more love than I already have for you. My brave soldier, off fighting for freedom. _

_ Know that I long for your return, but I also long for our Continental Army’s victory. Please do all in your power to ensure both. _

_ I hope that you are doing well, and that I will receive another letter from you soon _

_ Be safe, dearest Paul. _

_ Love from your affectionate C. Revere _

Paul groaned and rubbed at his eyes when he finished reading the letter for the fourth time. He missed her, too.

_ I have to get to sleep _ .

He slid the letter into his saddlebag and laid down on his borrowed bed, gazing up at the ceiling for a moment. He hadn’t given much thought to Sam’s concern about Charlotte when he had been in the room, but now Sam’s expression came into his mind’s eye, and he frowned.

Sure, Sam could worry about Charlotte, especially since the two of them hadn’t any communication with one another in a year or so. But did Sam really have to be  _ that _ worried? Paul didn’t think so.

At least he hadn’t opened the letter.

Paul decided that fretting over it was useless. He was exhausted, and he needed to be ready to ride back to New York at dawn.

He blew out the candle on the bedside table, and then rolled over onto his side, facing the wall the bed was pressed against. He went to sleep with thoughts of Charlotte in his head, and a small smile on his face.


End file.
